


Threshold

by sarenka



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adjusting To A New Life, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Ferelden (Dragon Age), Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Hasmal, Hasmali Culture and Customs, Hurt/Comfort, Immigration, Intimacy, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Political Expediency, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Tenderness, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarenka/pseuds/sarenka
Summary: Non-magical Thedas. The Inquisition has reached the stalemate in the war with Corypheus due to the expansion of the Hasmali regime threatening the safety of their allies and the trade routes. The only way to negotiate with the authoritarian Hasmal is through an offer of the familial bond.Ser Delrin Barris sends out the marriage proposal in the effort to secure a truce. It seems a sacrifice worth to help end the war, even if it changes his life forever.Mira Surma, the daughter of voivode Surma, a Hasmali military general, has spent the last seven years serving as a lay person in the Chantry. One night her father’s henchman arrives to take her, and she knows nothing will ever be the same.Her entire life, Mira has tried to carve out an existence free of her father. His entire life, Delrin has tried to follow his duty.Their marriage acts as a political tool, but it is real. Amidst the war, they try to build a life together with the best intentions.
Relationships: Delrin Barris/Original Character(s), Delrin Barris/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 237
Kudos: 82





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story of a true arranged marriage, where one party has little choice, although she wants to marry (or rather, she thinks it's the best choice in the circumstances). Everything happening between the main protagonists will be explicitly consensual. 
> 
> There will be a lot of fluff, fear not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning/trigger warning: threats, implied/referenced domestic abuse (not graphic), rape joke (met with stern response)

The war has lasted for several months now, and the Inquisition has reached a stalemate. They have managed to protect the South, especially on the Fereldan side, but the danger still lurks by the shores. Most of the Free Marches cities has joined the efforts against the rebel Tevene warlord Sethius Amladaris also known as Corypheus. He might be the primary threat to the Southern Thedas, but he is not the only one.

From the East, the ever pressing threat of Qunari invasion remains. The Iron Bull, a Tal-Vashoth, the closest friend of Ser Delrin Barris, uses his expertise and vast contacts to keep that threat contained. From the North, many Venatori extremists join Corypheus to bring the Imperium back to its ancient glory. Emboldened by the chaos, Hasmali regime moved onto the Nevarran and the Orlesian territory, effectively disrupting the transportations routes. Currently, it is the most pressing problem as the war council gathers in Haven. 

“It’s absurd,” Commander Cullen Rutherford hisses. “How come they have expanded so much? It stretches them thin, they cannot move further without risking their forces.”

“They are stretched thin,” Cassandra growls, “but so are we. They took over Tantervale and still hold it.”

“The prince of Starkhaven is not pleased,” Leliana sighs. “Between the Hasmali and the Tevene, and him remembering what happened with the Qunari in Kirkwall few years ago he is threatening to withdraw his support to the Inquisition.”

“It’s madness!” Cullen exclaims. “This is exactly what Corypheus wants. Those fractures will doom us all.”

“We can’t send more troops against the Hasmali,” Trevelyan interrupts. “My father and Ostwick are already breathing on our necks. Rylen is in Orlais, keeping whatever he can intact. We simply can’t afford to diverge the fight.”

“We already lost Tantervale, we can’t lose Starkhaven,” the Spymaster reminds them. “The economic value of the city is immense. I am not sure if Hasmal even wants it. They sacked several cities in Nevarra. The Hasmali are warlords, but they have always kept to themselves, avoiding invading their neighbours. Knyaz’ goal seems to be to secure his rule and gain Corypheus’ favor. Hasmal borders Tevinter from the north, remember.”

“A truce, then?” Cassandra gasps. “It will never last.”

“It doesn’t need to last,” Leliana argues. “We just need the routes from Nevarra City to Starkhaven. If we keep Starkhaven, we could get Tantervale back in the future. They will give up the Nevarran shore and the major routes if we give them enough in return. They went too far and need an excuse to retreat.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen groans. “They support Corypheus. Leliana, they have committed crimes so _unspeakable_ —”

“—And yet,” Leliana steels her voice, “we _mus_ t engage in diplomacy. What can we do, Commander? Hasmali are prouder than Fereldans. Strength is their pride. They will waste their forces before giving you an inch, and we have no time as Corypheus obliterates Orlais. We have no time to be principled. We need to be ready. We secure this alliance, and we let it last, be it a month or three, however long we require. It is easier to defend the routes again that it would be to win them in the first place. You know it, I know it, they know it, we all know it. The king knows it, the Marcher rulers know it, and the Empress knows it too.”

Barris listens to the conversation and leans over the war table. Everyone in the room sees the Spymaster is correct. They don’t have months to come up with another solution, and they don’t have enough military to fight everyone at once. The idea of an alliance with a man like knyaz Stravin, under whose rule the Hasmali forces have committed utmost atrocities, breaking the basic rules of conduct fills him with disgust, but Ser Delrin Barris has seen more than enough war to know how dirty it can be, and how tough choices could make all the difference. 

“Contrary to what you say, Leliana,” Barris hears the tiredness in Cullen’s tone, “I am aware how the Hasmali operate. I read the reports. I fought in the fields of Ghislain. You mention their pride, I mention their code. You know they won’t take a truce they find to reveal their weakness.”

Yes, Delrin knows the Hasmali warriors, too, from the same battles in Orlais. They held the borders, but they lost many good soldiers as well. 

“Well,” the Ambassador interrupts with her soft-spoken voice. “You are correct. The Hasmali build alliances by blood and family ties. We can… offer that and inwoven the truce into a marital contract. That gives them an excuse to accept it, and it ends our stalemate.”

“ _Marriage_?” Cassandra grunts. “You don’t mean to send any woman—“

“ _Surely not_ ,” Josephine cuts her off, the flash of anger briefly lighting her eyes. “I am not talking of sending anyone there. We can make our own marriage proposal.”

“And they would send one of their sisters or daughters to the enemy?”

“Not to an Orlesian, perhaps. Certainly not to marry a Nevarran, given the current situation. But there have been unions between Fereldans and Hasmali. I believe that Surma, one of knyaz Stravin’s generals, is of Fereldan blood. His mother was a minor noble before she married a Hasmali trader.”

Delrin’s heartbeat quickens as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“And whom do you suppose we task with that quest?” Commander shakes his head. “I am a married man. Do you have a noble house in mind that would offer their son? Or do you want me to order one of my men to do it?”

“ _Commander_ ,” Leliana’s says, and it is enough for Cullen’s arms to sink.

It is enough for Delrin, too. 

“I’ll do it,” he takes a deep breath. “Send the offer, Josephine. I am a second son, I have little claim to the estate, but I am still a noble, and I still have a title. Will that be enough?”

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that both the Spymaster and the Ambassador made this proposition with him in mind.

“Barris,” Cullen blinks. “I— _Your father_ —”

“—It is a small sacrifice to end that bloody war,” the words leave his mouth, sounding almost casual. 

Once he says those words, it is done. 

Delrin Barris is not a man to lie to anyone, not even to himself. _Especially_ not to himself. He knows the words he just uttered are a lie. It is not a minor sacrifice, not for him, not even to end the war, but maybe it is a worthy one.

Marriage. At twenty-seven Ser Barris has served as a Templar knight, fought in many battles and taken a few lovers, but he has never come close to marriage. As a younger son of Bann Barris, there has been no pressure. Calvin, his brother, already has an heir, and between the travels, the service and the fighting Delrin has never met a woman to commit to.

_Marriage_. Arranged marriages happen in Ferelden, but rarely and never between strangers. If he asked his mother, she would introduce him to a willing daughter of a noble family. He would meet his bride at least several times before the wedding. Still, he has spent his whole life believing he would marry for love, not duty. 

And not to a woman born in a land far away, a daughter of en enemy.

_No_. He can’t think that. The thought is beneath him, and it is far beneath the promise he has already made by his proposal. His closest friend, Bull, used to be a Qunari spy. The Inquisition has gathered all sorts of people, from all walks of life, and from all over Thedas. Tevinter, Seheron, Antiva, Nevarra, Orlais, Ferelden, Orzammar, the Marches. They have a few Dalish among them, and quite the number of city elves. They all commit to the cause greater that their personal gains. They all come _willing_ —

—Would she come willing? He knows little of Hasmal, and he can’t tell if they will give his bride a choice he has received. _Sweet Andraste_. The thought of marrying a stranger is disconcerting in its own right; the thought of marrying a stranger that might hate him before they even meet feels like acid burning his stomach. 

Whatever the future brings, he will behave like he ought to. Try his best. Keep his vows.

* * *

The soldiers come at night. The chantry in the village is small, and Mira stays up at the infirmary tending to the sick when she hears banging at the door, loud and furious. Nobody should be passing through here. 

“Go,” Reverend Mother orders.

The only reason she is the one to open the door is because she is a Surma, and the weight of that name carries.

She recognizes Yosef immediately. Her father’s most trusted henchman, the one she was to marry before she begged and begged to leave for the Chantry. 

“ _Ha_ ,” he says. “It is you. Pack your things. Your father calls for you.”

_No. No. No. No. No._

“I haven’t spoken to him in years,” she replies in a tone calmer than the storm building inside. 

Yosef clacks his tongue, and the sound still sends terror down her spine. He is a cruel man, he has always been one. Then, so is her father, a man responsible for the war and destruction around. 

“ _Mira_ ,” he leans in, just enough to whisper. “You go freely, or I take you and burn this place.”

There’s no reason to disbelieve him. Even the Chantry means little under the iron hand of the military rule. Yosef has done those things before, and her father wouldn’t blink before allowing for this to happen, with all the innocents inside. 

She catches the eye of Reverend Mother. They have tolerated her here. They have liked her, even, and it’s been useful to have a daughter of voivode Casimir Surma by their side for protection. Except now, in a matter of mere seconds, that protection is gone, and she brings a threat to the place that’s been her home for seven years. 

_Seven years_.

She packs quickly, with Yosef standing by the door of her tiny austere bedroom. He does it on purpose, she knows it. Every look he gives her scares her, even after all those years. Some men are that. They like it; they enjoy it. He could have told her what was going on, but he chooses not to, relishing in his power and her confusion. 

In Hasmali tradition her father has had little use for her, as she’s never shown skill in fight. She pleaded to join the Chantry not out of faith, but to escape the city, to escape their home, their family, to escape a man like Yosef in her future. It was the last act of leniency her father has given her. Voivode Surma framed it as a sign of his devotion to use against his opponents and cement his position. Mira was allowed to enter the cloister and work as a lay sister, but she never took proper vows. That her father would not allow. Tonight the leniency has ended.

It was good while it lasted. A meaningful existence. She found peace and joy in a service at the infirmary run by the sisters, tending to those in need. A mundane, ordinary work. Patching up the victims of war could never make up for her father’s crimes, but each day was filled with purpose and that, for the time being, has been enough.

Until now. 

There is no time to say goodbye. Just a nod to Reverend Mother, and another one to Ida, her closest friend. What words could Mira find? What could she say? That she is sorry, that she has hoped this day would never come? 

She sees one of the men giving the coin purse to Reverend Mother for _inconvenience_. Their small Chantry can use the money, and it doesn’t upset Mira, but there’s no denying it’s a transaction. 

There is nothing to stop the power of knyaz Stravin and his loyal men; her father first amongst them. She would have to cross the sea or beyond to escape that.

The carriage is small. Yosef’s knees touch her own as they sit opposite of each other. 

“It’s been a long time,” his gaze slides up and down her body, and she crosses her arms to cover herself. “You’ve gotten softer. Those chantry robes do little for you, I must say.”

She gives him nothing. Seven years ago she was sure Yosef wouldn’t touch her, but now… There’s war; her father apparently remembers she exists, and Mira cannot be certain of anything anymore. She chooses to stay quiet.

“You won’t wear them for much longer,” the man continues, narrowing his eyes, and Mira wonders how is it possible for hate to taste as bitter after all that time. “Voivode is having you marry.”

The air stills, and Mira wants to gasp, but part of her isn’t shocked. Her father wouldn’t call for her if he didn’t need her, and what other reason could there be? It cannot be Yosef. There’s a wedding ring on his finger, and her quick glance doesn’t escape his attention. He smiles triumphantly. 

“You did not want one of your own, so there you have it,” Yosef smacks his lips. “The Inquisition proposed an alliance by familial bond, and in his generosity and strength voivode Surma has decided to offer his only child, his beloved daughter, to a Fereldan dog.”

“My grandmother was Fereldan,” she reminds him. “My father’s mother.”

She will scold Yosef whenever she can.

“It seems you’re happy then,” he mocks, ignoring her remark. “I am sure your dog lord of a husband will be happy to _claim_ the only part of Hasmal he can.”

Her face turns crimson, the coil of disgust stirring in her stomach. 

Not every man is like Yosef. Still, she can’t be sure whether her future husband will be cruel or kind, but she can be sure of one thing - whatever happens, Ferelden cannot be worse than Hasmal for her now. She can’t return to the Chantry. That part of life is over. One night, and there is no going back. If she protests, her father might give her to one of his own soldiers, and that is the thought she cannot stand. Not for herself, not for any children she might ever bear. 

Ferelden seems… far, and for now, it is enough. _Far_. Mira clings to that thought with all her might.

* * *

The news of his betrothal spread like wildfire. The negotiations mention everything from the dowry which he readily gives up, from the gold voivode Surma wants for his daughter’s hand, to the Inquisition’s insistence that she is not allowed to bring any servants from Hasmal with her. 

_His bride_. The daughter of a monster with no honor. The man who has killed his own people, who has helped the terror reign over his own lands. The most trusted military general to the most repulsive ruler across the Free Marches, knyaz Stravin. 

What will she be like, he wonders? Leliana has mentioned that Surma’s wife has been described as a great beauty. He scoffed at her that day. It is not to say he doesn’t wish to find his wife pleasant, but most women are pleasant. What he wonders about is what kind of person she might be. 

“Your last chance,” Bull pats him on the back after handing him a large glass of ale. “I am sure you’ll have no problem finding a wiling lady in this tavern.”

He thinks of Jeanne, his longest dalliance of two years, and how it’s been ten months since he last saw her. Dalliances, sure, but he has never been a type to pick a stranger for only one night of pleasure. 

“I am already betrothed,” he frowns, taking a sip. “I won’t break a promise.”

“You’re sulking,” Bull notices. “Is it because you don’t want to go through with it or because we’re leaving tomorrow?”

“It is neither, I believe,” he breathes. “Truth be told, I find myself feeling… scared?”

“I don’t know much about marriage,” his friend replies. “But I think that when you’re to vow your whole life to a stranger, you have every right to be afraid.”

“I just… I would like her to be kind and good. I don’t expect much, but…”

“But you hope she’s not her father?”

“Is it awful to think that?”

“No,” Bull says after a second, “but to be frank, Barris, if you are scared, imagine how scared she must be. You are a man. She’s coming here, under your roof. She takes your name, she joins you in bed. You are a soldier, a fighter. The Inquisition would never send anyone to Hasmal, and your bride comes here to a foreign, hostile land, completely alone.”

The pang of shame hits his heart. “Bull, you know that I would never—“

“—I know. All I am saying is that she doesn’t know any of that. I would not assume much. If I learned anything, it is that men like Surma usually bring destruction to their homes as well.”

As the night comes, and he lays in his bed, he thinks of her more. His bride from across the sea. Is she kind? Is she sweet? Is she afraid? Is she sad? Will she arrive bitter or angry? What things has she been told? Does she think of him what he thinks of her father? To even consider that makes his blood boil. He is a soldier, not a murderer, but… who can say what stories she’s hearing of him right now. 

Whatever happens, he has a duty towards this woman, and Delrin will not shy away from it. Andraste preserve him, it will be his _wife_. His to protect, to provide for, to care for. She comes into a strange land, into a stranger’s arms, as a pawn of war. More vulnerable than him. At least he offered himself.

He will be true to her, for the end of his days, as he is to swear by the altar.

Mira, he whispers under his breath. She has a name, and he might as well get to used to saying it. Not voivode’s daughter, just… _Mira_.

* * *

She leaves for Ferelden after only a day in her old home. _Home._ She barely allows herself to use that word, even in the privacy of her own mind. The estate is large and beautiful, surrounded by high walls, concealing a garden inside. For Mira, it reads like a prison, it always has. A lovely place to bruise and bleed and wither and die. There are memories of laughter and sweetness hidden in the corners, but they drown underneath the pain and the bitterness, and she is not sad to let it go. It is not the first time, after all. Seven years ago she left for the Chantry, hoping to never come back.

They are to travel to the port near Cumberland. Is that how far the Hasmal’s forces have reached? Is that what the truce is about? To convince the knyaz and his military to withdraw back north? Mira doesn’t question much. She has learned not to, relying on the bits and pieces of information she can pick up while staying quiet.

Her father is in an excellent mood. Whatever alliance he struck, it must be worth his while, because his face lights up at the sight of her, and Mira knows him incapable of love. 

“ _Moja dziewuszka_ ,” he says, voice full of endearment. “No need to waste your youth in some Maker-forsaken Chantry. That’s been enough of that folly. _Dość_.”

Whether coated in sugar or not, an order is an order, and if there is anything voivode Surma requires, it is an unconditional subservience. 

Her mother is in a good mood, as well. She always is when her husband is happy, and Mira knows his moods can change as quickly as the wind blows. Right now, voivode Surma is glad, and so his wife will do anything to keep it that way. 

“You have gained weight,” she announces critically when they are alone. “I did not think it was possible in the cloister.”

“Is this what troubles you know?” Mira raises her eyebrows.

She can say things to her mother she would never dare say to her father. It has always been that way, because they both know Anna Surma won’t sour her husband’s day with any complaints.

“You might watch your tongue,” she warns, and Mira can’t tell whether it’s concern or malice. “Your husband might not appreciate it.”

“It is my worry, not yours.”

Her mother’s face is unreadable, as usual. Her beauty strikes, her face unmarred by age; her hair long, straight, blond and silvery. Oh, how often Mira has heard the laments that she inherited her father’s red curls. Not a day of her childhood went without coiffing and dressing, her mother trying to fit her in a perfect, pretty mold. Was it love or vanity, or something else? Does it even matter? 

She feels sorry for her. She has seen her mother’s bruises more than once as a child, but her own hurt cuts deeply. Mira finds herself at a loss because her father is worse, _so much worse_ , and yet she can pretend to have a civil conversation with him. Her mother, though… There is no sentence uttered without the needle going through her heart.

“I am merely trying to give you advice, as my daughter, before your wedding day. You decide whether you listen or not, but I have been married for more than twenty-five years and I know a thing or two.”

Mira would rather die than have a marriage like that, and if there’s anything she prays for, it is for her groom to be kind, whoever he is. May he be ugly, and stupid, and careless, and clumsy. She could deal with that, but she couldn’t deal with a man who hurts. 

“Mira,” her mother grabs her hand at the end of the speech she barely listened to, and she startles at the sign of affection. “Do what you must, but don’t let your husband send you back. You think you’ve had it bad your whole life, but your father has been good to you. If your union fails, and if it fails too soon, he won’t be glad.”

The marriage cannot fail under the Andrastian law. She knows it well enough, but she also knows that there are ways around every single rule. 

They shall see, she supposes. She already knows that once she crosses the sea, she can’t ever turn back north.

* * *

The end of Cloudreach across the Bannorn is beautiful, from the abundance of green to the meadows covered in bloom. Delrin Barris comes back to the familiar scent of home. It soothes him, but it cannot mask the seriousness on his father’s face and the sadness in his mother’s eyes.

“Was there no other way?” She asks, her voice shaking. 

“ _Adriana_ ,” Bann lifts his head. “It is done. Son, I have arranged for the soldiers to sleep in the village, and of course those who attend the wedding will stay here. Everything is already planned, and you will marry on Summerday, the day after your… ugh, _betrothed_ should arrive.”

“Mira,” he says. “She has a name.”

“Mira _Surma_ ,” his father emphasizes.

Bann Jevrin Barris, a decorated Fereldan soldier. He knows of voivode Surma and his reputation. 

“Mira _Barris_ ,” Delrin measures his words. “Whatever you might think, she will be my wife.”

“I know,” Bann Barris swallows. “That is… not what we wanted for you, but we understand, son. It will always be your home, so it will always be a home to your family.”

“Thank you,” he sighs. 

“We will accompany you,” his mother says. “Don’t protest, I see that you want to, but we have discussed it beforehand. It is not merely for you. It is only right we welcome her as a family. Calvin can take over the estate. Is she bringing anyone? I know her… father won’t step on our shores, but—“

“—Mother,” he says. “She can’t bring anyone per security agreement.”

“Not even a maid?” 

“No.”

Lady Adriana Barris winces in pain. 

“It is rather cruel,” she whispers. “But I understand.”

It stings to hear it, but Delrin knows she is right. The conditions of the treaty have been negotiated over and over, and for safety no other Hasmali tied to the regime can cross the border to avoid the foreign spies. His bride arrives alone, unaccompanied, and it makes him uncomfortable. 

“I am glad you are coming,” he remarks to his mother as she pats his shoulder. “It is good to have someone else besides… me and the number of our forces.”

His father is quiet. Delrin has not consulted him before making his decision. He didn’t need to; he is an adult, and he has been independent for a while, but Bann Barris looks… either disappointed or more shaken by the situation than he lets on. He is a proud, quiet man. Without the doubt, his son marrying the daughter of the enemy could taint the Bann’s reputation, but his father supports the Inquisition too, and he knows what needs to be done during the war. Although this is an… unusual duty to fulfill. 

“Come on,” his mother nudges. “The dinner will be served soon.”

The dinner is very Fereldan, and the pork hocks melt in his mouth. Even that cannot dull the tension at the table. His older brother Calvin and his wife Katherine stay unusually reticent, and even his niece and nephew, Tristan and Lucille, do not say much. He washes his mouth with a sip of water. 

“Say what you need to say,” he mutters. “Say it to me, because whatever it is, I’d rather you spare my wife from hearing it.”

“ _What were you thinking?!_ ” Calvin furrows his eyebrows, raising his voice. “Do you realize the _shame_ it brings to our family—“

“I am still the Bann, not you, Calvin,” father glares. “There will be no talk of shame around the upcoming wedding.”

“Father…”

“ _None_. Whatever is done, is done. Lady Mira will be the part of that family.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Katherine ponders, raising her glass of wine.

If there is a slight, it is in Katherine’s eyes, not her question.

“She will turn twenty-three in the middle of Bloomingtide,” he starts. “She spent some time living at the small Chantry cloister. We have confirmed that she has never taken the proper vows, though. I know little more than that.”

“A Chantry sister?,” Calvin chuckles. “She’s a _Chantry sister_?”

“Well,” he rubs his temple, realizing the absurdity of it all. “Not fully, since we are in this situation. She is free to marry, and multiple source have asserted that.”

“You don’t know how she looks like, uncle?”, Lucille asks. 

“No, sweet pea,” he admits. “I am certain she is lovely.”

“It’s like a romance novel,” his niece grins. “Like the one written by lady Delacourt, where the princess has to marry, but she’s secretly in love with a dashing knight…”

Sweet Andraste, perhaps not quite. 

“Lucy, you’re not allowed to read those,” Katherine hisses. “ _No._ ”

“Anyway,” Tristan raises his eyebrows. “It seems that Ferelden conquers Hasmal after all.”

The silence hits the room and for a split second he thinks he misheard his nephew.

“ _What the fuck_ ” he glares before his father raises his hand, waiting until Katherine and his mother take Lucille and their dinners to the sitting room.

“ _Tristan_ ,” Bann Barris says, careful and composed. “Comparing marital relations to the military conquest between hostile nations is just _wrong_. I hope you didn’t mean it this way, but I will be blunt right now. Sex is never about force, and it is never about coercion. That is rape, and it is evil. _Always._ ”

“I didn’t mean—,” the boy tries. “It was just a thing to say.”

“It was an _awful_ thing to say, son,” Calvin crosses his arms. “There are things you never joke about, and this is one of them, and no, don’t try to protest. You might have not intended it, but you have implied it. You are lucky that your uncle is a very calm man.”

“I am sorry,” Tristan says. “I really— _I am sorry_.”

“Don’t say anything like this _ever_ again,” Delrin warns, swallowing his anger, even though there are things he wishes to add.

“You’re dismissed. Go to your room. The conversation is _not_ over, young man. I shall talk with you tonight, and so will your mother. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, father,” Tristan nods.

Barris shakes his head, blood pulsing in his veins.

“I am so sorry, Delrin,” Cavin says, embarrassed. “I have no clue where that came from but believe me, I will deal with it.”

“I just….,” he grits his teeth. “I have no way to guess what she might think or what she might be afraid of. The thought that my wife might be scared of me is… _not pleasant_.”

They sympathize, but both his father and brother married for love. That is not unlikely in rural Ferelden, where the noble couples meet during the frequent parties and dances. He can’t recall any instance of complete strangers marrying, and it terrifies him. 

“You know what kind of man you are,” his father says. “Give her time and space, and she will learn it too.”

He certainly hopes so.

* * *

Mira has never been on open seas before. It makes her dizzy, but the color of the water and the sky keep her on deck. They take three ships for protection. Her marriage, as she understands, is a small part of the deal. An excuse to for her father to move troops back home and save face.

Is the man she is to marry a pawn like her? Or is she his future medal of valor, a visible sign of his sacrifice in time of need? Will he hate her because of who she is? Will he hate the blood in her veins? Will he want her children? Will he be kind? Will he learn to like her, even a bit, or will he leave her in some forsaken family castle among forests and hills to come back once a year? 

She doesn’t want to raise her hopes up, especially not when Yosef watches her like a hawk, as if she was to jump into the sea and ruin their precious plans.

_Fool._ There has never been a time when Mira wanted to die. 

Her mother is right. She can’t be sent back. There is no return to Hasmal after it. Even her father’s amicable mood is a proof of finality of that choice. Just as he ignored her for seven years when she had no value to him, he is eager to come back to pretending he’s never had a daughter, only this time he gets paid more than he has ever thought he would.

There was a time, a long time ago, when Mira thought he loved her. Voivode Surma would not reach his rank if he wasn’t charming, and delightful, and amusing. She can’t recall the exact moment when she realized that the only way he could ever love a person was through seeing them as the extension of himself. 

She wonders what family her husband comes from. 

_Delrin Barris_.

The name sounds neither foreign nor familiar, and it rolls on her tongue, too. _Del-rin_. It has a pretty feel to it. 

That is all she knows about him, aside that he is a noble, and aside from all the insults Yosef spews whenever there’s no one else to overhear him. He tries to scare her before they reach the shore, but the burning nervousness in her stomach has been her companion for many years now. 

_Ferelden._

Does her father even think of his own mother right now? She doubts it, but those ties make her feel more secure. There is blood in her veins that came from this land, so maybe, just _maybe_ she could find something more for herself there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to wait with finishing it before posting, since it's a shorter story, but with the pandemics around I've decided not to wait. I have the first three chapters already written, and there's more to come. I hope you ,
> 
> Some terms:  
> knyaz - a ruler of Hasmal, a nation in the Free Marcher  
> voivode - the title of a military general in Hasmal
> 
> moja dziewuszka - my girl  
> dość - enough


	2. Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Delrin meet.

Barris feels his heart thudding, as if before the battle. There is much to oversee. Joined by the Inquisition forces, their main goal is to sign the treaty, and to exchange the negotiated goods and some information, and to hand the coin that he finds sickening to pay to the enemy.

Somehow he is to meet his bride as well. 

It is a precarious situation, enough to warrant the presence of Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast, several mounted units, and Bull and his Chargers. There is a Royal Fleet’s ship visible on the horizon on the right. They would help in case of attack. His parents wait in the back, by the carriage.

It is hardly an official port. They use the old docks near Portsmouth, prepared for the eventuality of the assault. It won’t happen, Barris is sure of that. Voivode Surma is many things, but he has never shown himself to be stupid and reckless. Still, Delrin wears his armor and carries his sword, and yet there is also a bouquet of flowers waiting on the seat inside the carriage. It is foolish. He feels foolish.

The Hasmali won’t dock, but the Inquisition has small loading boats to go in and out. It is more risky, but unavoidable. Surma won’t step a foot on a foreign soil, and to be honest, Delrin understands that. Even with losing the alliance, the temptation to take him down would be great.

He only takes ten men with him, and Bull is among them. The mercenaries likely won’t spook Surma as much. 

He recognizes the voivode from the official portraits. He is shorter than he imagined, but has the same prominent ginger mustache and he’s wearing a similarly rich, embroidered coat. Like all of them, he looks less formidable in person, but what stands behind Surma’s power is his firm, cruel rule on behalf of the knyaz.

The treaty signing takes them some time, and Barris is trained well enough to resist the appeal of looking around to try to spot a woman that would become his wife. 

“Oh, there you are,” the voivode announces, while Delrin raises his eyes and sees a young woman led by a guard. “ _Moja dziewuszka_.”

Delrin is not sure what he hoped for, but the woman looking at him is by all accounts quite beautiful. There is a slight resemblance between her and her father. She has curly red hair falling down her arms, and a similar nose, but her face is sweet and kind. Some relief befalls him and he chastises himself inside, because what does it say about him? What did he imagine? That she would have a streak of cruelty marring her face? She’s lovely, and he feels shallow. 

“Ser Delrin Barris,” Surma says. “My daughter, lady Mira Stefania Surma.”

“My lady,” he bows down.

“My lord.”

Her voice is soft and low. 

“She won’t bring you shame. She has… what do they call it?” Surma mutters a few words in his native tongue.

“A sweet soul,” the man standing by her side replies in a mocking tone.

“Yes, a sweet soul. She will listen to you and obey you.”

Delrin’s uneasiness grows, because it feels like he is receiving a prized mare instead of welcoming his bride. 

“I am certain…,” he tries, clearing his throat.

“In Hasmal, we raise our women to be good. _Obedient_. You will be pleased. My daughter is untouched, I assure you, and she wouldn’t dare to lie about that.”

Lady Mira’s cheeks flush in painful crimson, and Delrin’s stomach twists at her discomfort. Maker’s breath, what the fuck is going on and why in the world would they mention something so private and intimate, clearly shaming her. What can he even say to that?

“Go to Ser Barris,” Surma orders. “No need to be shy.”

The man escorting her pushes her forward, enough for Mira to lose balance and for Delrin to grip her elbow to steady her. His heart engulfs in rage, because he has predicted a lot of things, but he didn’t expect that type of mistreatment.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he breathes, staring at the top of her head, turning his arm to shield her by sheer instinct. 

“Yes,” she answers, averting his eyes and not even turning to glance at her father. 

There is no formal goodbye, nothing that he prepared for. Suddenly there’s a woman by his side and he’s leading her to a small boat while Bull helps her get seated, giving him a puzzled look. It takes a lot to shock his friend, but now the Iron Bull seems as bewildered as him.

He wants to ask her once again how she’s doing, but she’s looking around, not at him, and they are accompanied by the Inquisition soldiers. It doesn’t seem like the right time, and frankly, Delrin wonders if he could even provide any comfort. 

How odd. Usually, it is no issue for him to remain calm and composed, but right now he is shaken, and he cannot even fathom how Mira might feel.

* * *

Mira will never see them again, not unless something horrible happens. The feeling takes a seed in her heart well before they arrive in Ferelden, and it roots deeper and deeper as they hit the shore. 

It might not be freedom, but it almost tastes like it. 

_For now_.

He is handsome, that lord husband of hers. Very tall, with broad shoulders covered underneath all that armor. He looks ready for a battle, and in truth, he likely has prepared himself for one. 

There are a lot of troops on land, moving quickly, each performing their duty. She glances to the left and sees few soldiers opening her chests and going through her items, one by one. One woman is taking out the lingerie her mother bought her as a wedding gift, and the gulp forms in her throat. 

Of course they will search through everything. Her father might sail back across the Waking Sea, but she will always be his daughter.

“My lady, I am _so sorry_ ,” Ser Barris whispers. “It is just the protocol and I’m afraid—“

“It’s fine,” she says.

She wishes they wouldn’t, but it doesn’t surprise her. 

Someone calls for him, so he excuses himself for a second, and Mira stands alone, trying to ignore anyone that stares. The exhaustion washes over her. She hasn’t slept well on the ship, and her mother made sure she wouldn’t get enough food just for the wedding gown to fit better. It will probably be awhile until they leave, but she would love to sit down. 

“Lady Mira Surma?” A tall woman approaches her as she confirms. “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast of the Inquisition. Forgive me, my lady, but are you armed?”

She lets out a deep breath. 

“No.”

“I would need to search—“

“Cassandra, no,” Ser Barris’ voice is quiet but firm. “ _No._ ”

“Barris—“

“I am escorting lady Mira myself,” he repeats, and that is enough.

There are things only time can tell. It is too early to say whether he has a temper or whether he is calm, whether he is proud or humble, whether he’s affectionate or cold, and whether he will choose to bestow her much of his attention or almost none at all. 

He seemed embarrassed when her father presented her like a broodmare, telling things he had no right to say, things that should stay _hers_ , things that should never be spoken out loud. Her father dropped her onto this land like sack of coin during a transaction. Who she is and what she is like should be up for her to reveal and for her husband to discover, and she is not _obedient_ , she’s… _careful_. There is a difference, but now those words linger around her mind. Does he, that lord husband of hers, wants her obedient? Does he care at all? Yes, she’s never been with a anyone, that part is true and she hasn’t lied about it, but it should be up to her to tell him, in the privacy of their chambers. 

The shame burns inside, and Mira doesn’t know what to do, or how to do it. Ser Barris is a stranger, and she is used to silence, but there are things she wishes she could say.

“I apologize again, my lady,” he utters, offering her his arm. “Would you mind? My parents are here and I would like to introduce you.”

“Certainly,” she touches him for the first time and it is as he was all made of cold metal.

She doesn’t know how to feel, except that it is a lot at once, and every emotion is twirling inside like stormy seas.

They walk behind the troops to the carriage with two people standing aside, and there is no need to introduce them, because Ser Barris looks just like his father, except that he has his mother’s green eyes. What must they think? Are they proud of him for keeping his duty, or are they disappointed? What must they think of her, of the blood coursing through her veins? 

“Mother, father,” he says. “Lady Mira Surma. My lady, those are my parents, lady Adriana Barris and Bann Jevrin Barris.”

“Lady Mira,” Bann nods, polite and collected as his son, but his wife graces her with a warm smile.

“Bann Barris, lady Barris, it is an honor to meet you,” she manages, her accent suddenly more prominent in stark contrast to the way they speak. 

“We are so glad to welcome you into the family,” Lady Adriana’s voice is pleasant and kind, and a small blister opens in Mira’s heart. “You must be so tired, sweetheart. I am afraid there is more journey ahead of us, but I truly hope you will enjoy the estate. It is beautiful this time of a year. Have you eaten? Would you like something to drink? Delrin, when are we able to leave? Jevrin, would you please bring some water?”

It is a lot of words, but Mira latches onto them, because they make her feel safe. “I would not mind water, my lady.”

She takes her time, drinking it sip by sip and listening to Lady Adriana’s explaining the details of their travel. 

Perhaps Ferelden won’t be awful.

* * *

Finally, he is able to remove the armor before the travel. Sweet Andraste. He has imagined this moment so many times in the last month, but now that it is here and _she_ is here, he finds himself more anxious than before. They will marry in two days, the day after they arrive in Barrfield. That is not a long time, and his bride seems more of a reserved type. Maker’s breath, given her father and his display of behavior, what is she used to? What does she expect of him, and how could he let her know what kind of man he is without being too forward and risking offense, without bringing up the voivode’s words? 

Maker help him, he is so glad he brought his parents, especially his mother. 

How absurd is this situation? He is used to the company of women. He is used to social interactions, and he knows he can be charming, but none of this prepared him for that sort of situation. 

Above all, he doesn’t want to overstep. He doesn’t want to scare Mira; he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Certainly not more than he already has, from the words of her father, to the soldiers roaming through her most personal items.

She left everything she has ever known to come here. It is his duty to make her life good, and he will try to do that.

Wearing just a gambeson, he feels the pleasant wind hitting his back. It is a windy day, and when he comes back, he sees her red curls dancing around her face. She truly is beautiful, more so than he expected, and in a different way. She’s shorter than any woman in his family, barely reaching his shoulders. He notices the curvy shape of her body. Her skin is fair, with the blush that comes and goes. Everything about Mira seems soft and warm, even with her cautious manner. 

It is too soon to tell, but he already knows he is more lucky than he thought he would be.

“My lady,” he offers her flowers, and she widens her clear blue eyes in surprise. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the color on her cheeks deepens, and he finds it a lovely sight. 

“My lady,” he dares. “Please, you can call me Delrin. Whatever you prefer, truly.”

“Mira,” she says. 

“Mira,” he repeats. “Have you ever been south?”. 

For Marchers, Orlais counts as the south, too. 

“Not beyond the Free Marches and Nevarra,” she answers. “I haven’t traveled much, I am afraid. What about you and the north?

“I’ve visited many Marcher cities. Ansburg, Starkhaven, Kirkwall. I’ve been to Antiva, once. Not Hasmal, though.”

“I didn’t think so,” she glances at the sea and he wonders what she might be thinking.

“I imagine it is difficult to leave home,” he breathes, hoping to let her know that even though he cannot understand what she might feel, he respects it. 

He will always respect it. 

“Not really, no,” she says with a tinge of sadness, and then brings the flowers close to her face to smell them. 

If leaving home to marry a stranger isn’t difficult for her, then he can only guess what her home was like. The wave of protectiveness coats his heart, and Barris is surprised by that moment of tenderness. 

“Our carriage is almost ready,” he looks beyond this shoulder and catches his father’s gaze. “Are you all right to travel?”

“Yes.”

“I am afraid my mother might talk throughout the whole journey. She has been quite excited and nervous at the same time. She might ask many questions, and for that I already apologize.”

He sees the corners of Mira’s lips barely lifting. It would be nice to see her smile. 

“Your mother seems very kind.”

It would be natural to follow up with a question about hers, but he doesn’t. Not yet, not now.

It takes time to learn what can be said and what needs to be left alone, what areas and topics are untouchable. 

He’s walking in the darkness, but they are talking, and it is _something_.

It is the beginning.

* * *

If Mira is to look at one man for the rest of her life, she supposes that Ser Barr— _Delrin_ is not the worst choice. She doesn’t mean to ogle, but there’s no harm in observing him, and besides, she will lay with him in two short days. He’s more than handsome, to be honest, from the shape of his face with those prominent cheekbones to the soft green of his eyes, to his warm brown skin, to his lips, and large hands with neatly trimmed nails. His facial hair is short and coarse. Thank the Maker he has no Hasmali-style mustache.

Better without the armor, she thinks to herself. He’s wearing a wool gambeson in a gray-green color, and she can see the shape of his body. He is tall, lean and muscular. A soldier trained for endurance. 

What is he thinking right now? Is he giving her as much chance as she is giving him the privacy of her own thoughts? 

The alliance will end. There is no way the Inquisition doesn’t realize that. Marriage is supposed to be permanent. What happens if the truce fails too soon? Will he look at her in anger if their marriage fails on its political promise?

Let him be kind, she pleads silently. 

She didn’t lie to him. His mother is lovely, taking over the conversation, and showing her Ferelden through the carriage windows, describing all the Summerday customs across the Bannorn, narrating the history of Barrfield where they are heading, and sharing anecdotes about the family. She asks questions, too, but there is gentleness surrounding her inquiry. It is hard to decide it right away, but Mira rather likes lady Adriana. Her husband, Bann Barris, remains quiet.

“Bannorn is rather rural, I am afraid,” the woman continues. “Still, there is a smaller city, Danemouth, not that far from Barrfield. Haven is even more remote. You must be used to the city, my dear.”

“I spent several years in the small chantry in a village several hours from the city of Hasmal,” Mira says, catching a glance from Delrin. “I am familiar with a smaller community.”

“How long have you spent there?”

The question is unavoidable, of course.

“Well,” she exhales, “close to seven years.”

The silence follows.

“You’ve never taken the vows, my lady?” Bann Barris breaks it, and Mira can see his wife nudging his ankle with her foot.

Her face gets warmer, because she can’t help but to think he wishes there was a way to stop the marriage, or at least to dissolve it in the future. A vow of chastity would certainly be an obstacle.

“I have never taken the vows,” she confirms, avoiding to look at her future husband. “I was denoted a lay sister, and I have never performed religious duties. I worked at the infirmary adjacent to the Chantry, so my service has been more… _pragmatic._ ”

“You trained as a medic?” Delrin asks. “That is very admirable. Unusual for a woman of your status, if I may say that.”

She looks him in the eye and doesn’t find any mockery behind his statement.

“I guess that is the only needlework I’ve ever excelled at,” she tries, and he smiles in response. 

“Seven years,” he repeats, “is quite a long time.”

“It is.”

“You must have returned home at times,” lady Adriana looks confused, “or did your family visit you often?”

Mira knows what they are asking about, and she doesn’t want to lie, but she also doesn’t want to explain herself. 

“ _I—_ ,” she hesitates. “I haven’t seen my parents even once all those years until two weeks ago.”

Something bursts in the eyes of her future mother-in-law, a pity or compassion. Mira forces herself to avert Delrin’s gaze. There are words that would escape the surface if she let them, but she knows how to keep them inside. She doesn’t want to hide, _not really_. Her parents are far away, the ties severed. Any loyalty has died a long time ago, but Mira has her pride and dignity, and more importantly, now that she can, she wants to be seen for who she truly is.

One smile and a gentle tone of voice is not enough, but it’s a start.

“I was a Templar until a year ago,” Delrin mentions, changing the subject. “Until joining the Inquisition. It is possible I have attended more matins at the Chantry than you.”

He is tactful, and that is a good sign. 

“That is very probable.”

The rest of the journey is not horrible.

* * *

They stop at the inn in the evening for a meal and to rest until the morning. Delrin can see the exhaustion on Mira’s face, even though she never complains, always well-mannered. She compliments the leek and potato soup although she barely takes a few bites. He picks up on her nervousness, but he can see how much she tries to hide it. Truth be told, she’s practiced, but he’s an observant man. There are deep breaths she takes from time to time to steady herself, and her hands jitter a little. 

“Is there anything you need?” he asks, walking her to her room. 

“No, thank you. I am just… quite tired.”

“Of course,” he says. “Please, if you wish for anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you,” she repeats.

Sweet Andraste, he thinks to himself. He recalls the voice of her father talking about obedience, and he wonders if she would tell him if she required something, or if she thinks it would be impolite. 

Bull was right all along. Even judging solely based on the little snippets of information here and there, it is enough for Delrin to notice that her home has been an unhappy one, and that voivode Surma has shown little care towards his daughter.

He doesn’t need to ask whether Mira knew about the wedding negations, because he bets he knows the answer. She didn’t until two weeks ago. 

The Inquisition proposed the treaty as a solution. He had a choice. She didn’t. Surma handed her like an object, leaving his only child in an unfamiliar country, a place she has never visited, with people she has never met, _with him_. 

There are already promises he’s making in his heart.

“How are you doing, son?” His father asks when he finds him sipping whisky at the table downstairs.

“I am fine, really,” he says, and there is no lie in that statement. “I just… I hope she is fine as well.”

“I wish I knew the words to say in that situation,” Bann Barris shakes his head. “She seems like an agreeable girl. I think your mother is already rather fond of her. She’s very determined to make sure lady Mira feels at home.”

In truth, he finds a semblance of fondness bubbling in his chest, too. Perhaps it is merely hope that it won’t be bad, that they will find a common tongue in sharing a life. 

“I’m glad you two are here. Especially mother.”

“I’m glad we came. How was Surma?”

“Just… a man, like all of them,” Delrin mutters. “Ordinary in his evil ways. Boastful, a bit odd. The way he introduced Mira… I don’t think there has been much love there.”

“No, I don’t think so either.”

They drink in silence for a while. Bann Barris is a man of few words.

“You know, son,” he begins, hesitant. “I know you think I am concerned about our family’s reputation and I won’t lie to you, there will be talk and gossip, but… I’ve been with your mother for over forty years. I still remember how in love I was with her when we got married, and I remember our honeymoon as if it was yesterday. To this day your mother takes my breath away. One of life’s greatest gifts and one of the greatest pleasures is loving someone. I’ve always taken for granted that you would feel the same on your wedding day.”

It grasps his heart, because truthfully, he has always taken it for granted to, at least before the war. The pain swirls deep inside, and yet he doesn’t want to change his mind or to flee. He recognizes his duty, but there’s faith he carries, too. Maybe they could find something more, if they try enough. 

He nods. There have been times he and his father have had a strained relationship, but there is comfort in silence they share. Still, he doesn’t want to sulk. Not after today.

“You know,” Delrin admits. “If I saw Mira during one of your Summerday parties, she would be _the first_ woman I’d ask for a dance.”

“Well,” his father smirks. “That is not too dreadful then, I suppose.”

Indeed, it is not.

* * *

Mira wakes up after a night of decent sleep, better than she’s had in weeks. It is a new day, and she is in a new place, and at the moment, she feels content, not worried. She might miss the work at the infirmary, but there is more she is glad to be away from. After a warm bath she puts on her most comfortable clothing, a pair of light wool breeches and a simple linen shirt. She looks down the windows, wondering whether she should leave the room. The town looks interesting, with the houses so distinct from the architecture she knows. The stone they use here is gray and whitewashed, such a stark contrast to the red ochre brick of Hasmali dwellings. This deep sense of foreign brings her comfort, because it symbolizes a fresh start. 

The thought sparks enough courage, so she walks out and descends to the dining area of the inn. It seems that it is still very early, and there’s only two people inside, and no one she recognizes. There are no armed soldiers. Nobody said she shouldn’t wander around, but it still surprises her how much she dares. In the chantry, she walked whenever she wanted, but that has always been under the guise of her work. Her life before, as the voivode’s daughter, offered a unique sense of invisibility. No one paid particular attention as long as she followed the rules, and there were _so many rules_ , some transparent, some pointless, all left for her to decipher.

Mira has never been a rule breaker. Her defiance has been of a different sort. Seven years ago, when she convinced her father to let her join the Chantry, she won her _almost-freedom_. It didn’t last, and it didn’t offer everything, but she carved out a space to live in and a mission to motivate her to rise each morning. It might have been nothing in the grand scale of things, but each time she helped someone with their injury and sickness, it was an act against violence, against pain, against misery. _It mattered_ , and in seconds _he_ took it away; but she can do it again. She will find that space again, and now she has more freedom than ever before. 

It is a risk, but the front door is open, so Mira steps out of it. It is colder than she expected, and she feels her skin tighten underneath her thin shirt, but it is not unpleasant. There is still the morning grayness around, and the air seems heavier than in Hasmal. Fragrant with trees and meadows and horses and freshly baked bread, if she is not mistaken. She breathes it all in. A stroll would be nice, but perhaps not at the cost of scaring everyone that she ran away.

The door behind her open with a thud, enough for her to startle as she turns around to see Delrin.

“Hi,” he says, stopping when he notices her.

“Hi. I just wanted to come and…” 

“It is a nice day,” he takes few more steps to stand by her side. “Are you cold? I can go back and bring you whatever you need.”

“I am fine, really. But thank you.”

He seems considerate. 

“I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” he remarks. “I wanted to make sure you get enough rest. I know yesterday—“

Her stomach growls loudly, and the heat of embarrassment hits her face. 

“ _I’m sorry_ —“

“Come,” Delrin says, looking like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Let’s get breakfast.”

It is just the two of them, but before she realizes the table fills with bread, and eggs, and sausage, and cured meats, and at least several kinds of cheese. So the cheese obsession is true, she thinks, as Delrin takes his time to carefully explains each kind. There’s a sharp goat cheese, a salty cow cheese, and even cheese that’s green because of sage, apparently. 

Mira’s starving. Yesterday she felt too out of place to eat, but today she sinks her teeth in a crispy crust of a fresh bread, thinking that she can adjust to _all_ of this. She will. 

“We should reach the Barr Castle before evening, thankfully,” he takes a sip of his tea. “We might even leave earlier than planned, which would allow more time before, uhm, _tomorrow_.”

_Tomorrow_. Their wedding is tomorrow, on Summerday. 

Mira struggles to find the right words to say in response. There is no way to express everything that she is feeling at the moment, but silence seems wrong as well. Even if she doesn’t owe him any assurances, she would like to give him _something_. 

“Right,” she manages, and it more than inadequate. 

She doesn’t want him to find her cold, but it is hard to trust a man she just met, even one with the gentlest eyes and a quiet, soothing voice. One that seems kind, so far. 

Perhaps she should be braver, but she is not a coward, either. Her whole life, Mira has focused more on hiding than revealing herself, because the moments she could be sure belonged only to her were few and between. Even in the cloister, there surely has been someone sending occasional reports to her father. 

Right now, it is not fear she senses deep in herself. Caution, maybe. Some apprehension. Not only that, though. 

She looks at him more today. Why wouldn’t she? She will say the words tomorrow and become his wife, and then they will spend a night together. He really is very handsome, from that strong jaw and a beautiful face, to those full lips that seem so soft, to the muscles than show underneath his white tunic with rolled-up sleeves. He looks at her too, although his gaze never lingers too long. 

Her father might have arranged it, but he is not here, and he will _never_ be here, and whatever this turns out to be, it will belong only to her and the sitting man across. 

If Delrin is as kind as he seems, she will gladly give it a chance.

_Husband_ , she tests in her mind.

It feels foreign and bizarre, but it doesn’t feel wrong.

“I truly hope you’ll enjoy Barrfield,” he says, voice warm.

“I think I will,” and so she tries. 

And when she smiles, a bit shy, he smiles too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor babies. 
> 
> Also, yes, voivode Surma is the worst. And Delrin's mother is the best. 
> 
> The next chapter will be the wedding, of course. 
> 
> I am rejoicing in all the comments, so I hope you'll say a few words if you read it.


	3. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin and Mira marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

The Barrfield Chantry is small, fit for a size of a village itself. Now it barely contains all the guests that have arrived for the wedding. Summerday decorations of garlands of fresh flowers and herbs adorn the beams and the pews inside. Delrin has imagined that moment since the day he told the Ambassador to send out the marriage proposal. Now it is happening, and he finds that he is less afraid than he thought he would be.

Mira’s hands trembles in his, but she doesn’t seem terrified, either. She looks him straight in the eyes, and she seems to seek his attention and his touch. It reassures him because it appears that he at least has made the right impression, the they have crossed the first bridge towards trust as they become husband and wife. 

There is no other woman he will kiss, starting this day onward. He will say his vows and he will keep them, because above all, Delrin considers himself a man of honor. It might not be love, but he has chosen this, and thus he has chosen _her_. It is his duty and his responsibility to do right by his wife. 

Mira looks so lovely that it takes his breath away. Whether it makes him vain or shallow, he is just a man, and he enjoys the beauty of a woman he is to wed in a few short moments. Her face is sweet, from clear blue eyes to the full lips he will very soon kiss. The red curls fall down on her exposed shoulders. Brides in Ferelden wear floral crows, and so does Mira, but underneath the wreath there is a veil made from an intricate lace. Her white dress reveals a deep cleavage. Delrin is a tall man, and she is a short woman, and even though he avoids staring, he certainly notices how full and soft her breasts look and how enticing is the valley between them. He has no right to any affection. Marriage change nothing, and he would never place any demands or dare to have expectations. Still, Mira is a beautiful woman, and just as her lips curl into a smile, he thinks that he is looking forward to what the future might bring. Perhaps they can find something more in each other. 

“I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman for the rest of my days,” his voice fills the Chantry, and the blush sneaks up on her cheeks. “I will be true to her for as long as I live.”

She speaks so quietly that many guests won’t be able to hear her, but he does and that’s what matters. 

“I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste,” she takes a deep breath, “to love this man for… for the rest of my days. I will be true to him for as long as I live.”

Sweet Andraste, he doesn’t know why, but the wave of tenderness crashes into him. Those are the simple words that transform his life forever, but then he looks into Mira’s eyes once again and wonders whether he’s already taken with her. Even if his attraction is haste and superficial, there is nothing careless about the vows they exchange. 

“By the Maker and the Holy Andraste I join you both in marriage,” Revered Mother proclaims. 

Those words trull change _everything_. He knows that. They change who he is, they change the meaning of home. They change his future, and they change his daily life.

Delrin slips a wedding ring on her finger, the outward symbol of their union, and by some miracle it fits perfectly. 

He is a man with a wife.

He would truly like to kiss her.

“With that blessing, you might kiss,” Mother Iolanda says while the guests revel. 

It is their first kiss, and sadly it must be in public. Delrin doesn’t want to spoil anything, so he doesn’t rush. Mira is so short he needs to bend down, but as he does she leans closer, her breasts pressing into him. His fingers brush her face, and it is the first time he touches her aside holding hands. Her breath hitches in her throat right before, but then their lips meet and she mellows. The smell of herbs and honey coats her. How does she smell like Ferelden already? She tastes warm and sweet, and by the time he pulls away and sees her reddened cheeks, he thinks he would like to kiss her again.

* * *

The kiss is slow and tender, and Mira enjoys it. As it turns out, Delrin really has the softest lips. He holds her firmly in his arms, and yet his touch is caring, and her heart might as well escape her chest. As nice as that is, she hasn’t forgotten about everyone looking at them. The blush explodes on her cheeks. She wants to hide, but not from him; _with him_. It is not the time, not yet. 

They are of the same faith, but things are done differently in Ferelden. The words and the hymns are the same, but the wedding is not like any she had attended in Hasmal, before she went to live in the cloister. Here, the line to offer them congratulations seems to last forever, and Mira almost gets impatient just standing, and nodding, and smiling while Delrin engages in small talk. 

Everyone knows who she is and where she’s from. The circumstances of their matrimony are not a secret. Still, it is a beautiful wedding, a proper one. It makes her feel like someone worth trying for, not just a woman bargained for a military cause. 

Lady Adriana gasped when she saw her in the morning. She had asked yesterday if Mira was willing to wear a floral crown for tradition’s sake, and of course she agreed. Today, when the maids laced her dress and placed the veil and the wreath on her head, Delrin’s mother shed a few tears while telling her that she looked beautiful. 

He told her that as well, only once, when they met right before entering the carriage that took them to a chantry. It is too soon; but his words brought warmth. 

It might be too soon, but today is her wedding. There was little choice in that, but there are thousands of little choices she can make, and truthfully she looks ahead with hope in her heart. Today, she will embrace however she feels.

* * *

Mira is not a good dancer. She warns him about it, and Delrin barely believes it, but it turns out to be true. She darts her eyes to her feet, and she tenses in his arms, trying to focus. He pulls her closer, following a simple box step, and without thinking, he starts drawing circles on her back with his fingers. Surprised by his own boldness, he wants to withdraw, but Mira relaxes a bit. It is subtle, almost nothing, but he relishes in that closeness. 

There’s something indescribable about the emotion he feels. Something entirely new. He’s hardly inexperienced, but it is not about that, it is about who she is and the promise that binds them. Mira might be practically a stranger, and yet by the words of the vows and the intent behind them she becomes the _one and only_. It is astounding and terrifying at the same time, and the sudden vulnerability confuses him, because he already doesn’t want to disappoint her. 

The duties of being a Fereldan groom call upon him, and even though has never attended many weddings because of his service in the Templar Order, he is a son of a Bann and he knows how to act properly. He dances not only with his wife but also with his weeping mother, and then with everyone else he ought to, before he returns to the woman who bore him. 

“You’ve been awfully teary tonight,” he teases, twirling her in arms, graceful as ever.

“I am your mother,” she huffs, smacking his shoulder. “I have the right to cry, thank you.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, smiling. “And thank you for the celebration. It’s lovely.”

“Mira is rather lovely,” she hesitates. “Isn’t she?”

“She is very lovely,” he admits. “Please don’t meddle.”

“I would _never_ meddle,” Lady Adriana’s nostrils flare up but then her face softens. “You’re my child, Delrin. I just hope for so much for you and you both are in such a… _complicated_ situation.”

“Mom,” he lowers his voice. “Let us get to know each other. Stop worrying.”

“I know that look,” Calvin cuts him. “Don’t fret, she sulked at my wedding as well. Come on, mother. Leave him be. You owe me a dance as well.”

Due to the age difference between them, he has never been very close to Calvin, but a brother is a brother, especially on a day like this. He stands by the side of the dance floor, watching Mira carefully swaying with his father, both rigid and very formal in their movements. Bann Barris escorts her to him, patting Delrin on his back before he disappears to dance with his own wife.

“I think we deserve some rest,” Delrin says.

The relief falls on Mira’s face.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she mutters. “I am afraid my years at the cloister have made me an unsuitable dance partner. You dance very well, especially for someone who had to dutifully attend daily matins.”

“I dutifully attended more than daily matins, believe me,” he smirks, pouring Mira a glass water and watching her drink it all at once. “No one will try to interrupt us now, at least until the cake arrives. I know little of Hasmali wedding traditions, but are there very different?”

“Both yes and no,” she replies, frowning, and then she half-snorts. “Actually, yes, a lot of traditions are different. In Hasmal, there is a custom to make it challenging for a couple to reach the altar on their wedding day. The groom is to pick up his bride from her family home. From the moment he does to the moment they cross the threshold of the chantry, the neighbors set various obstacles, called _bramy_ , the gates. They might block the road or circle the carriage. It befalls the groom to make sure the ceremony starts on time. Usually it involves a simple negotiation and handing out a lot of bottles of _vodka_ , because sharing alcohol is sharing your good fortune and spreading hospitality, but sometimes someone might ask for a proof of strength or set any other challenge.”

“So you are telling me, my lady,” he asks, “that there was a trial I was supposed to pass?”

“Well,” she whispers. “You did, didn’t you?”

It tugs at his heartstrings. 

Throughout this whole day, she has never mentioned her family. Not even once, not for a second. Delrin has noticed. 

Mira has no home. Perhaps she’s never had a home, but now it befalls him to give her one. She’s sitting right next to him. A woman, flesh and blood, and heart, and mind, and soul. She’s looking straight at him and she’s trying to place some trust in him. He can see that. 

It is an impossible situation for both of them, but he had a _choice_. They are in his home, surrounded by his family and his friends. They are on Fereldan soil, on this side of the Waking Sea, on this side of the damn war.

Whatever struggles he might face, hers are thousand time over. 

Every flicker of faith and confidence she gives him is a privilege Delrin won’t take lightly. 

“My lady wife,” he brings her hand to his mouth to place a quick, chaste kiss.

“My lord husband.”

It is the first time they say it out loud.

* * *

Delrin feeds her a piece of cake straight from his bare hand. His fingers touch her mouth, and somehow it is more intimate than a kiss. She feeds him as well, feeling the coarse stubble around his chin and jaw. The proper kiss follows, as it is customary, and this time it lasts longer, and she tastes the sweetness on his tongue. It makes her hot all over, and the dress clings to her skin. He is very handsome, and very tender, and he is hers, too, in some way, at least. 

Except one sip for the toast, he hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol. Mira can’t be sure why, but she is happy he doesn’t drink tonight, not with the night ahead of them. It seems respectful and caring. She has seen enough drunk men in her life, but so far he is showing restraint in everything.

Soon, they will part and they won’t see each other until after the bedding ceremony, when they will meet again inside their bedchamber. She slept there already, but tonight he joins her.

It pleases her to look at him, and it pleases her to be around him. Delrin is so much taller than her but the way he carries himself doesn’t seem intimidating, although she stands on her toes when they kiss and he easily towers over her. Well, once they lie down it won’t matter, and the thought makes her blush. He has warrior’s hands, rough and a bit calloused, and yet when he holds her his touch is very careful. His kisses are better than anything she’s known before, and she has never discovered anything beyond kissing. His lips are big and plush, and it is not unwelcome to imagine him trailing them on her neck and beyond. She wonders if he has scars from fighting, and where would they be. She wonders if his body is as warm to touch as it seems now when he’s standing right next to her. She wonders all that, and it makes her forget how much she’s dreading the bedding ceremony.

In Hasmal, the women unveil the bride, and then the loud music plays as the newlyweds walk to their bedroom accompanied by the guests who sing and joke. It’s loud and large, and Mira is neither of those things, and It is privacy she craves. 

Here, however, they do it differently, as it turns out. It is her mother-in-law that comes to take her to the wreath burning ceremony, a Fereldan tradition.

“It’s time,” Lady Adriana says, and for the first time Mira sees something on Delrin’s face that could be described as shyness. 

“My lord,” she whispers, knowing full well what will happen the next time they see each other. 

“My lady,” he breathes.

His mother takes her few rooms down, to a seating room with a large fireplace. There is lady Katherine, Delrin’s sister-in-law, and there are few other ladies present, either distant family or close friends. 

She doesn’t know the custom, so she follows Lady Adriana’s lead and sits on the chair in the middle. 

“I am not sure what Hasmali tradition is,” the woman says. “But I’d like to do it for you, too.”

It is kindness, and Mira smiles. Knyaz’ regime brought by the steel hand of her father swallowed and spit out Hasmal for her, making it barren and inhabitable. She wanted to leave, and she wanted to escape as far as possible, and now she did, right _here_. Still, there are Hasmali roots inside her, and there are beautiful, too. Her father is not in his room in any shape or form. He’s beyond the sea that he cannot cross; his reach doesn’t grasp here. His blood might flow in her veins, but Mira has rejected it inside her soul over and over again. Today she took a different name, and she is Mira Barris, not Mira Surma. Tonight, she will let Hasmal back into her heart and enjoy its meaning. It will live through her, and only through her, because finally she can reclaim it, even for a minute.

“In the ancient times,” she swallows, “there was a capping ceremony. The family would take off the bride’s veil, and her hair was cut to put on a cap that all married women wore. Nowadays the veil is still removed, but the bride only loses a short curl of her hair to signify that she is no longer a maiden, but a wife.”

“I can do it. Do you want me to say any words?”

“No,” she says. “In Hasmal, we sing, but no words are necessary tonight. I apologize, I still don’t really know the wreath burning custom well.”

“It is similar, I suppose,” lady Katherine addresses her. “The flowers and the herbs are from Fereldan fields, a sign of abundance and fertility. The women from both families stand by the bride and place their hands on the crown and give their blessings for a new life. What they hope for her and for her marriage, and blessings for the home or future children.”

She nods.

“Don’t worry if you cry,” the elderly woman narrows her eyes. “Most girls cry.”

“I didn’t cry”, Delrin’s mother frowns, scoffing.

“That’s because you couldn’t wait to run off and be alone with Jevrin, Ada,” the woman retorts, and to Mira’s surprise, lady Adriana giggles. “We barely managed to bless you at all.”

“ _Aunt Maude_!”

“I cried so much,” Lady Katherine sighs. “I had to put a cold towel on my face and I was scared that Calvin would scream seeing me like that on the wedding night.”

“You clearly managed fine since you bore him a son less than a year later,” someone says, and all women laugh. 

It reminds her of the cloister, but she won’t say that out loud. Void take it, it was rough between the Chantry politics and the constant grappling with lack of coin and resources, but there was a sense of kinship too, and there was some laughter as well. 

“All right,” Delrin’s mother says, giving the signal to other women.

They circle Mira, and suddenly it’s harder to breathe with so many bodies around her when she is still sitting. It is not forceful, but their touch is assured as they press their hands onto the wreath on her head. It is intimate, as only tradition can be. This one might be foreign, but it still opens something in her heart.

She has been alone for most of her life. In some way, she is alone now, and _yet_ … She crosses the threshold, and they welcome her to belong. Whether or not it is theatre, there is power behind their voices and their words. Those might be the same things they say to every girl on her wedding day, but tonight they say it to _her_. 

“May your marriage be blessed with care and devotion,” lady Adriana says. “May it bring you comfort.”

Mira doesn’t think she could cry. It has only happened in private since she arrived in Ferelden, but now her chest feels heavy. 

“May you be blessed with good health and good fortune and may your home be always safe,” lady Katherine whispers.

“May there be plenty of food on your table, and may you never know hunger,” someone mutters.

“May the Maker bless you with children.”

“May your husband always keep you satisfied,” the elderly woman says and Mira bites her lip, chuckling. 

“May you find joy in all your days.”

“May you laugh together a lot.”

The words blur just as her vision does, now teary and glassy, and Mira’s heart thuds like a drum. It is not a loud cry, but those are actual tears that she dries off her cheeks. 

They move away, removing her wreath, and now Mira watches it burn, the flames eating on the flowers and the leaves.

 _Burning her old life_. The thought stirs the deepest parts of her soul, and she knows her chin and mouth quiver. 

She takes a deep breath, transformed. 

It is a good custom. Like it was made for her. 

The women unveil her, taking the tulle off and removing each pin carefully as Mira sits in silence and collects herself. Someone hands lady Adrianna a letter knife, and she cuts a single curl.

“That is it,” the woman murmurs and Mira stands up, slightly dizzy. 

Someone hugs her, and to her surprise, it might be lady Katherine, even though they hardly talked before. Another woman hands her a glass of water, and someone offers her a piece of fruit and dessert before she leaves, but Mira doesn’t want to stay longer than necessary.

It is again lady Adriana that escorts her. The walk lasts an eternity, and they don’t talk, for which Mira is grateful. 

Delrin’s mother still has to walk inside the bedroom to help her unlace the dress. The servants prepared for tonight. It is too warm for the fire, but there are candles by the bed and fresh flowers by the dresser. Lady Adriana moves her fingers quickly, and the heavy satin of the dress falls to the floor. 

“I will give you some time, all right?” the woman whispers, hugging her at the end when Mira stands in front of her just in her underdress. 

Her own mother rarely hugged her. 

“Thank you,” Mira murmurs, not knowing what else to say given what happens next.

Just like that, she is alone in their quarters to get ready and wait.

* * *

Delrin won’t touch Mira tonight. It is obvious to him, and he hopes it is obvious to those that know him, and yet he cannot say it out loud. It could cast the shadow on the validity of their union and there needs to be no gossip and no doubt there. 

Nobody teases him after his mother takes Mira for wreath burning. Usually, the groom and the men from his family and close friends wait alongside him until one of the women signals that it is time to retire for the night. He has witnessed it a couple of times when his friends or cousins wed, but it has never been a marriage like his. They are _strangers_ , and they have barely met. The anticipation is of a different kind than if they were a couple in love.

He is grateful for silence, and yet it offers little comfort from his own thoughts.

It is not shyness. Delrin knows that. He’s had lovers, and he considers himself confident enough. He knows how to strike a conversation; he knows to dance and charm, and he’s always made sure to please. None of that matters today.

There are no other women. There won’t be other women. There is only one, _his wife_ , and he hasn’t pursued her yet, and he hasn’t won her affections. His proposal was to her father, and Mira had no say in the matter. He doesn’t know her that much, and she doesn’t know him. He has no expectations for intimacy, and marriage doesn’t change that. He has never touched anyone without consent, and he never would, but now he is also concerned that Mira would give him something she doesn’t truly desire.

Barris doesn’t want to think of voivode Surma. There is no place for him here. However, the man’s words treacherously slip inside his mind, souring his thoughts. ‘ _She will obey you,_ ’ her father said, and it is not obedience Delrin wishes for. The thought that she might feel obliged by some twisted and disgusting parody of duty and marriage burns his stomach. He _must_ show her that she can trust him. That he requires nothing more, that he hopes their relationship will develop because they both want it to. 

It would be a lie to say that he doesn’t imagine more. Sweet Andraste, he’s not made of stone. Mira is more than agreeable, and he likes everything he discovers about her. She’s more than lovely. _Beautiful_ , from her fiery hair to her soft features and glorious curves. Truth be told, if he just met her anywhere, he would approach her, and given their interactions, he would likely be taken with her, too. 

Now she is his, but not really; and every world and gesture carries weight to it. He doesn’t know her past and the hurt that lies there, and there is some hurt, he has noticed. He doesn’t know her fears, though he can imagine some, and she likely is afraid of him in some way, too. He doesn’t know her hopes, even though he’s certain she hopes for him to turn out gallant and kind. He needs to measure his words and his actions, be cautious and gentle. 

“The girl is rather pretty,” someone breaks the silence and Delrin snaps out of his thoughts.

“ _Uncle Vernon_ ,” he groans, giving his father a knowing look. 

“You’re a young lad, I am sure you’ll do well.”

 _Oh, what the fuck_. Bann Barris distracts uncle Vernon with another glass of whisky, and Delrin feels the tension floating in his body.

He wonders what things he will say to Mira without sounding brazen or offending. She is of a different culture, they even speak their own tongue aside Common. Until recently, she’s been a Chantry sister. Sweet fucking Andraste, preserve him. 

Most in Ferelden engage in intimacy before their marriage, and few enter their union _untouched_. There is no way to tell, and it has never mattered to him, but between her life at the cloister and the controlling ways of voivode Surma it is likely she’s never been with anyone. He won’t ask, not at the risk of shaming her. There was such a clear pain and embarrassment on her face when her father traded her like a thing. The last thing Delrin wishes for is to add any discomfort. Mira deserves so much better. _No._ It is _his duty_ to do so much better.

Someone knocks on the door, and it opens.

“We are done with the wreath burning,” Katherine announces.

In the normal circumstances, he would head straight to his bedchamber to be with his wife, but now it already seems like a breech of intimacy, so he stops by his old bedroom to wash and change. Calvin is with him to formally fulfill the bedding ceremony requirement by escorting him as a witness. Today, Delrin is grateful for his much older brother who has been married for years now, and who is respectful enough to say nothing.

The cool water washes away the sweat of the day. He lets himself stand and let it flow as he closes his eyes.

Delrin Barris is not used to awkwardness. Not like that. 

He puts on the simple breeches made of soft fabric and a linen tunic. Thankfully, they are on the second floor of the estate, and on the separate side of the castle than the celebration that is still going on. Nobody except Calvin will see him walking the corridor. His parents gave them a large corner bedroom, the quietest place in the estate. Nobody would walk there by accident, and so it offers privacy. 

His brother walks him straight to the door, as the custom demands. Delrin senses his pulse quicken and his heart rush. Odd, he rarely feels this way. 

Calvin pats him on the shoulder, and then embraces him, as if he was to leave for battle.

“I’ll live, you know,” he mutters.

 _“Oh, brother_ ,” Calvin breathes. “Whatever you think, you are married, and nothing will ever be the same.”

Gently, he pushes the heavy door open and enters her— _their_ bedroom.

* * *

Mira has imagined that moment so many times, whether in her home in Hasmal or in her austere bedroom at the cloister with her hand between her thighs. She’s never done more than fantasize about it. There has never been privacy to pursue anything but a few stolen kisses. She could never be sure if she was being watched. Besides, vows and no vows, she was a lay Chantry sister, it would not befit her station to actually be with someone. 

The man in her dreams rarely had a particular face. There was a trader from Tevinter she liked and kissed, and earlier, a young farmer in the same village as the Chantry. She waves off those memories with ease. There is only one man that will ever touch her. 

It’s easy for her to imagine kissing him. His lips taste wonderful, and Mira wouldn’t mind to rub her face against his stubble. His body is muscular and lean, and tonight she will run her fingers over his skin and learn it. He will see her, _all of her_ ; he will touch her everywhere. He will kiss her everywhere, and she will kiss him. None of this seems unpleasant, quite the contrary. 

_Oh_ , but she is very nervous. Her palms sweat and her heat beats so fast as she washes up in the bathroom to change into her nightgown. There might be a tinge of fear in her heart, although truthfully, she is not afraid of him. Maybe she is horribly wrong, but Delrin seems sweet and kind, and she senses tenderness in him. There’s more to her thoughts. She’s curious how it feels, and whether she could find pleasure she can give herself. She’s curious how _he_ feels, how it would be to lie underneath him. 

She’s not clueless, by any means. There’s no confusion about the mechanics of the act itself, and Mira knows her body. Besides, the cloister full of women has certainly provided ample opportunities for education, and she worked at the infirmary, too. She has seen nudity, and she’s not shy around the topic of sex. Maker’s breath, she saw people of all ages nude, and she has delivered many babies, but… even her knowledge has not prepared her for everything ahead. If they take it slow and he’s careful enough it shouldn’t hurt, and if it does, it should only be uncomfortable for a moment, but will it be good?

Her mother insisted on purchasing peignoirs and nightgowns. Back then, it filled Mira with unease, the most intimate and dreadful part of the _transaction_. Now, as she puts on a sheer and lacy nightdress that falls down her knees, the anticipation replaces dread. He is a stranger; she reminds herself, almost surprised by how brazen her thoughts turn. He is also her _husband_ , and she hopes he will like her, that he will seek her comfort and pleasure. 

The air fills her lungs as she takes a deep breath. Mira likes to be prepared, but how can she be prepared for the unknown? All she can do is to leap and trust this man, and to join him, and truthfully, she _wants to_. Still, she comes up with a plan on how to proceed before the shyness takes over in those first moments. She will approach him, because she wants to be brave, and she wants to reach out to him first. She will place her hand onto his chest, and he will kiss her, running his hands up and down her back. Later, she will tell him to be gentle, as that is all new, and he will be. Delrin seems that way. 

She can hear him entering their bedroom, and her heart almost bursts. All the nervousness and excitement and the mystery of it all bleed into one. 

“It’s me,” he says, or maybe he doesn’t say those words exactly, but something of the same meaning. She can barely hear him through the blood pumping in her veins. 

Mira fights the need to cover her body as she opens the door to walk out of the bathroom. Delrin stands at the foot of the bed. He’s already changed, wearing nighttime clothing, and the warmth she’s feeling overwhelms her. Her blush creeps on everywhere, and her mouth dries up. She takes two hesitant steps towards him, but then he turns away, averting his eyes. 

_Oh_. 

Mira freezes. 

“Let’s just, uhm, _talk_ ,” he says. 

Her face lights up on fire, shame erupting as he can’t even bear to look at her body. She gets onto the bed and slides underneath the covers, curling in the sitting position by the headboard.

* * *

Delrin grits his teeth, looking away from Mira. _Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard_ , he tells himself, feeling his cock twitching inside his breeches. By the Maker, he has not anticipated his body reacting that way just at the sight of her. He doesn’t want it, not tonight, not like this. 

Mira is so beautiful. He has seen enough of her body underneath that sheer thing she’s wearing, from her heavy breasts and pink nipples to the patch of the reddish hair between her round thighs. She’s _delicious_. _Fuck._ _Sweet fucking Andraste_. The last thing he needs right now is a raging erection when he’s trying to make her comfortable. 

He can hear her getting into a bed and by the time he turns around to face her she’s sitting, covered up to her neck, knees high and arms crossed. Any desire he’s felt leaves him immediately, because the sight is so vulnerable. She seems… _scared_. 

“I could,” he hesitates, “sleep on the floor or—“

Mira frowns, glancing at him with her eyes wide open. 

“I wouldn’t wish for you to be… uncomfortable, my lord,” she says.

Please, he pleads silently. _Please._ Just Delrin.

He extinguishes the flame of the candles around the room and then lies down in the bed himself, right on the edge. What now? What topic could he bring up? 

“Would you like to tell me something about yourself?” He whispers.

“What would you like to know?” Her voice trembles.

Anything, really. _Maker’s breath._

“I apologize, my lady,” he breathes. “It seems I am very bad at this. I just would like to learn more about you.”

“I—,” she stammers. “I don’t know if anyone is good at the situation we found ourselves into.”

“Forgive me my bluntness, but I would like you to know no harm would ever come to you here, in Ferelden.”

With me, he adds in his mind. In this marriage. 

“I didn’t think it would,” she replies, but her body shows otherwise when he can sense how tense and rigid she is. 

He can’t press. Any further reassurances might end up sounding creepy in their own right. He cannot expect the trust to appear right away, regardless how nice their interactions have been so far. 

Every topic seems equally untouchable. Her childhood, with voivode Surma and the regime? What _can_ he ask about? Even seemingly innocent questions seem charged now, given who she is, and yet the second he thinks it, he is ashamed, because she is not her father’s daughter, but her own person. 

“I would love to show you around the estate tomorrow,” he tries. “I know I am biased, but it’s beautiful. There is a river not far from here. There is a forest, part of which belongs to the family. My mother takes pride in her garden, and many flowers are already in bloom. There are also training grounds and I still need to… run drills in the upcoming weeks, but my father has allowed the Inquisition soldiers in the castle. Anyway, I would love to make some introductions if it’s all right with you. 

“Of course,” she says. “Whatever you need.”

He wishes she wouldn’t say that, but how can he be upset at her politeness and her manners?

“There is a large library in the castle, too. I am not sure what it is you would like to do in your days…”

“I am not a child, my lord,” she answers, hurt in her voice. “I am sure I can find a way to keep myself busy.”

Maker, now he’s done it and offended her. 

“I didn’t—,” he mumbles. “I apologize, I—“

“No, I am sorry,” she interrupts him. “It seems that my nervousness is getting ahead of me. I just wouldn’t wish to impose on you.”

She’s _his wife_.

“Mira,” he uses her name and hears her breath hitch. “You can’t possibly impose on me.”

* * *

He says that, but Mira is skeptical. The embarrassment still engulfs her chest, but there is more, and it makes her angry at herself.The little prickles of hurt spread around, because she has opened her heart, even if only a little, and she was willing to open her body for him, too.Now he is lying on the side of the bed as if he wants to escape. Maybe he does, since he seemed so eager to sleep on the floor.

Everything he says to her is friendly and kind, and yet he doesn’t mention anything personal. It’s all introductions, showing her around, finding things for her to do, as if she was a burden to manage. There’s no endearment, however cautious. Nothing they talk about is intimate, something that could be shared just between the two of them. Mira supposes she could ask him more questions herself, but he has seen her practically naked and looked away so quickly.

She would think he is shy, but he didn’t seem shy before when he kissed at the altar or later. He tells her stories of Barrfield, and his squadron, and various visitors staying at the castle. His voice is calm, and it never shakes. He emits the quiet confidence. He is a great dancer, she knows it. He is a great kisser. This is Ferelden, and she assumes he has taken lovers before. And even if he is shy, that doesn’t explain it. He has given her _nothing_. No token of affection, however small. No compliment, however formal.

He is a man who has seen her so vulnerable. She has dressed for him, she has readied herself for him. _All of that was for him and he said nothing._

She is so naive and stupid in letting herself get so caught up in the moment.

Is there something wrong with him? She doubts it, judging by his demeanor. Is he so displeased with the match that he can’t even look at her, or kiss her, or hold her or even ask about something private?

Why is she complaining? He’s not seeking to hurt her, and he could have been so much worse, but deep in her heart she know that she was hoping for more. A chance to be close, and for him to _like_ her if not cherish her. For home and family, all the things she never thought she would be able to have.

There has been so little affection in her life, and even all the shame can’t extinguish how starved she is for it.

Would he _ever_ touch her? Would he give her a child or leave her barren?

Mira knows her thoughts spiral, but she can’t stop the flow until they reach deeper and deeper, right to the core of her fears and insecurity.

Is it because of who she is? Does he look at her and sees her father, and violence and war? Does he see the enemy, and blood that’s rotten? Does he see evil? Is he ever going to see her for whom she is? Must she bear the weight of her father’s horrible sins?

There is a one final thought she claws at her at the end. That one that goes back to the conversation with her mother.

 _Will Delrin send her back?_

Is he not touching her because he wants a way to annul the marriage once she is no longer needed, so he could be free? He could get awards for his service and helping the war effort, and then he could wed for love and be happy, _and_ —

If he sends her back, she will die. Or worse, for maybe there could be a fate worse than death.

“Do you ride? We keep horses here, and there are also stables not that far from Barrfield that have beautiful Amaranthine charges.”

“I ride,” she manages, her heart twisting and bleeding at what might come. “I, uhm, we— I grew up riding, for horses are my mother’s passion.”

The only time Mira has ever seen her laugh so openly was at the stables.

“And I need to show you the kennels. Dot usually sleeps in my quarters, but I was not sure if you were fine with it. Truthfully, the Mabaris run freely through the estate. They are large but well trained and docile.”

Dot, his Mabari that she has yet to meet.

“I would never mind a dog,” she says. “Although I was never allowed one.”

“Well, there are seven living in the house. Bann loves them more than us, to be honest,” he laughs, and it sounds so warm, and cozy.

It hurts even more.

He is still so attractive, and that tenderness hasn’t left him, it is just… _not for her_.

“Are you tired?” Delrin asks softly, glancing at her. “I know today was a trying day.”

 _No_ , Mira thinks. For her, it was rather sweet, and full of hope, and even…romantic.

“A little,” she lies.

“I won’t keep you up then,” he breathes. “Goodnight, Mira.”

“Goodnight, Delrin,” she sighs, heart bruised.


	4. Steps and missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of marriage, and Mira and Delrin struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter grew too long, so I had to break it in two. This one is a shorter one.

When Mira wakes up in the morning, her husband is not by her side. He is not even in the room, and the disheveled bedding is the only sign of his previous presence.

What is she to do? Staying in bed seems inappropriate after last night, so Mira gets up to shower, allowing herself to sob as the cold water falls on her face. If there’s anything she owes him, it is respect that she can show by not making the situation worse. Everyone will stare at her this morning, and she should not appear downstairs with a red, puffy face, looking as if some harm came to her.

That part is not that difficult. Mira has learned it at home, for the wrong reasons, but it allowed her to survive, and then she has learned it again, for the right ones, to do better by the patients at the cloister, so she could mask her fear or disgust and allow them to lean on her. 

By the time Delrin walks into their bedchamber, knocking ahead to warn her, she is already dressed. The enormous dog with two small white markings on her chest follows him.

“Good morning, Mira,” Delrin smiles.

“Good morning,” she swallows. “That must be Dot.”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you, so I wanted you to meet her first. This is indeed Dot. Come on, girl,” he says to the dog. “This is Mira, my wife and the most important person here, all right? You are to listen to her commands and to guard her whenever I am away.”

His words are more than serious. Mira’s heart clenches as all the yesterday’s hope brews along the fear and insecurity. 

“Hi, Dot,” she whispers, letting the dog sniff her hand. 

The Mabari nudges her knee. Mira pets her, enjoying the warmth of the short slick fur.

“You’re a good girl,” she repeats softly and Dot wags her tail at the praise. 

“Are you ready to go down for breakfast?” Delrin asks. 

Mira is not ready for any of this, truth to be told. How could she be? Her husband stands before her, polite and handsome, and a stranger, and she is about to join for a meal in her new home-not-a-home with her new family who likely wish for anything but this and anyone but her. _There is no ready_ , there is just her will and her strength, and knowing that it could have been so much worse. 

“I’m ready,” she replies, giving him a half-smile she can muster.

There are many people at breakfast. The atmosphere in the dining room seems more relaxed than what she has known from her childhood in Hasmal, but something shifts when they walk in. Even though nobody stares, Mira feels the careful glances following each of her moves and gestures. Delrin seems unfazed, as if nothing about this situation was unusual. Last night he was so uncomfortable, but in daylight his confidence is back.

He is very courteous, pouring her tea and passing the platters with food. If not for their wedding night, she could take it as doting, but it’s just his manners. Still, she smiles and nods, and answers the few benign questions about her food preferences or how she takes her tea.

Once again, Mira is inside the cage of meaningless niceness. She hopes it is temporary, but how could she break free? Those are strangers, all of them, even the man she married, and this is a strange home in a strange land. Delrin should be the one reaching out to her.

Maybe he will. It has been just a day, and she should not jump to conclusions. By the grace of their union, she should show some faith in him.

* * *

His wife is well-mannered, and Delrin has never been a man to revel in the opposite, but now it bothers him. He doesn’t think there’s any deception to uncover, but Mira wears her courtesy just as a soldier wears his armor. There was a practiced control in her actions and expressions in front of others during breakfast. His heart sinks when he notices that it doesn’t give away when they are alone.

It’s been less than a day, he reminds himself. It’s been less than a day and he has no right to expect anything at all from her, especially not as they walk through his childhood home, a place where every tree and every pathway and every room has etched itself onto his heart. He is at home, however long he had spent outside those walls. Home, the most intimate of places. 

She is home too; the reality created by the vows they’ve exchanged, so visible in the name she carries now. Home, the strangest of places, where all is unfamiliar, where her every step is careful and calculated, and he is bound to welcome her, but how can that happen, when he is a stranger as well?

“The stables on the right,” he tells her, “and behind them there are the training grounds, and the armory. Usually there’s fewer people around, but the war—”

The words catch in his throat, because Mira knows the same war from a different perspective. She nods, seemingly unmoved, and he reminds himself that she had grown up among the military. 

“I understand,” she says.

“The Inquisition’s headquarters are in Haven, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes used to stand, but we’re growing and our forces are growing, too. It is not unheard of for units to station across Orlais and Ferelden thanks to our allies. Given our circumstances, I figured it would be best to stay close to home. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I lived in a Hasmali cloister,” she points out. “I’m used to a simple life, but I appreciate your concern, my lord.”

“ _Delrin_ ,” he can’t help himself but to correct her.

“Delrin,” she repeats with no protest. 

He can’t get upset at how polite she is, but he wishes she’d draw some boundary so he’d know where to step and where to stop.

“May I make some introductions?” He asks. “You met most of those people yesterday, but I’m sure it was rather overwhelming. Given how much time I spend here, I would like you to know where to find me and whom to ask should you need anything.”

“Absolutely.”

There is no training today for him to oversee, but the war doesn’t cease just because he got married. As they get closer to the fighting grounds, he immediately hears the familiar clacking sounds of metal-on-metal and the yelling accompanying the drill. Commander Rutherford watches the sparring soldiers like a hawk, and Bull stands by his side. 

Delrin feels the stares directed at him and Mira. He tells himself that the soldiers would always stare at a spouse of someone in command, but his wife is Surma’s daughter, and that has to add to their curiosity. Sweet Andraste, for sure Mira notices it as well, but there’s nothing he can do. The sooner everyone gets used to her presence, the better.

“Commander, Bull,” he says. “That’s my wife, lady Mira… _Barris_.”

She carries his name; and yet he himself almost slipped. 

“My… _lady_ ,” he stammers again. “Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition Forces, under whom I serve.”

“My lady,” Cullen bows down.

“Commander.”

For all intents and purposes, Cullen’s position is akin to the Hasmali _voivode_. 

“And this is the Iron Bull, the leader of the mercenary group called the Charges and my closest friend.”

“Aww, Barris,” Bull grins. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Just Bull, please.”

“Just Mira,” she gives him a faint smile.

“My apologies, my lady,” Commander glances at her. “Barris, can I get you and Bull for a few minutes since you’re already here?”

_Seriously_? The whole point was to get Mira acquainted with everyone, not to abandon her the day after their wedding; but the demands of war never stop.

“I’m sorry,” he turns to his wife whose face betrays nothing.

“It’s all right,” she says. “Would you like me to wait for you here?”

“Would you mind? I wanted to take you to the gardens afterwards.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It won’t be long,” he assures her and she nods.

When Delrin follows Bull and Cullen to enter into the makeshift office inside the armory, a small feeling of failure settles around his stomach. He snaps his head back to see Mira standing still, her arms across her chest, her eyes fixed in space. 

She looks so _alone_ , and since yesterday, that is on him.

* * *

The sounds of sparring bring many memories, not necessarily good ones. Mira could always hear the faint clanging from her bedroom in her family home. The cloister took it away and replaced it all with a different set of background noises. Now the memory hits again as she stares at the soldiers. They fight with longswords, not sabres, and their armors are distinct, but the sounds remain the same.

“Lady Mira,” someone calls and she turns around to see Seeker Pentaghast approaching, a weapon sheathed by her side.

“Seeker,” she welcomes her.

“Please, call me Cassandra if you wish.”

“Mira,” she replies. “Are you of those Pentaghasts?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Seeker groans darkly. “You’ve heard, I see.”

“Of course I’ve heard. Hasmal borders Nevarra.”

“Hasmal has invaded Nevarra now,” the warrior clarifies, and Mira freezes. 

It doesn’t seem a personal slight, and she understands, but the words taste like pine tar. 

“I am sorry,” Mira says. 

No one has the right to make her apologize, because she can’t bear the cost of _knyaz_ ’ crimes and the sins of her father, and yet at the same time Mira knows that she won’t run away from that guilt and that responsibility, that it will nudge her and prickle anywhere she goes, even here.

“I read the reports that we had gathered about you,” Cassandra remarks and Mira scoffs at that uninhibited honesty. “You spent _years_ at the cloister close to the Tevene border.”

“I went there shortly before my sixteenth birthday.”

“That’s young. I passed my vigil when I was fifteen.”

“That is rather impressive.”

“Thank you. It was a lifetime ago. I know you weren’t close with your family, but what do you think of Hasmal and the war?”

“I think my father is evil,” Mira lets those words out for the first time in her entire life, because she can.

The world keeps turning same as always and yet something has shifted. 

“I could never say it so openly,” she confesses quietly. “You can judge me for it, I suppose, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I don’t judge you. I just wonder how you find the Inquisition. You could lend us a hand, perhaps?”

“As the daughter of _voivode_ Surma actively proclaiming your cause? You should have realized by now that my father does not see me as my own person.”

“As a medic,” Cassandra says, undaunted.

_Ah_ , that is a different matter.

“We have built the Inquisition from the ground up on good foundations,” Cassandra continues. “There has been so much corruption around, be it the Chantry, the Templars, the Seekers. The danger we’re facing is of total war, and we try to fight it the right way, without sacrificing our morals.”

The surge of frustration flashes over Mira. 

“ _Tell me_ , Cassandra,” she breathes, “how much did the Inquisition pay for me?”

The warrior stills, taking a deep breath.

“Five thousand sovereigns.”

“You overpaid,” Mira shakes her head.

“You’re not…,” Cassandra hesitates. “You’re not a slave here. We both know there are slaves all across Thedas, and that it’s not you. I can’t begin to realize what it means to you, but the offer of marriage was honest and you have all the rights of Fereldan nobility, and all the protections your status gives you.”

“I know,” Mira grits her teeth. 

“That’s false equivalency—“

“ _—I know, Cassandra_ ,” Mira cuts her off, letting the sourness dance inside her gut. “You are on the right side of the history, but there’s more to Hasmal than the regime. Do you think that anybody asks the Hasmali what they think of huzars keeping them in line? We bruise and bleed as well, under our own rule. You are the good ones, but innocent people die on both sides. _War always sacrifices morals_ , however honorable your cause is, and however justified your actions.”

“You’re right,” Seeker glances at her, and Mira feels the ice melting at that admission. “We sacrifice our morals every day, but there is a threshold we don’t cross.”

“I know the proposal was as noble as it could be, but we both know than I’m bargained goods. Let me be angry when you ask me to lend a hand when my whole self was already given away.”

“That is fair,” Cassandra concludes, looking her in the eyes.

“I will never refuse to help as a medic, if I am able to,” Mira states. “I give you my word, but I also have no medical tools.”

“I can remedy that, I am sure. Thank you for agreeing. It means a lot.”

“You’re the only one who has talked to me so openly since I came here.”

“I feel I’ve overstepped.”

“It’s fine,” Mira says, and there’s no lie in those words either. “It really is fine.”

“You know, Barris seems a good man.” Cassandra thins her lips, “but if he mistreats you, I will deal with him himself.”

“That’s a big promise,” Mira raises her eyebrows.

“I’m brash. I only make those,” the warrior laughs.

They hear the clamoring behind and turn to see the three men walking out of armory.

“Come find me anytime if you wish to talk,” Cassandra adds.

“I will,” Mira answers, watching her leave.

Delrin comes, brushing against her arm in an apologetic gesture.

“I’m very sorry that you had to wait.”

“That’s all right.”

“Can I take you to the gardens now?” He asks, offering her his arm.

“Yes,” Mira replies, holding onto him. 

For better or worse, she found herself here in Ferelden, on the right side of the war, for once. She had dreamed of leaving Hasmal, of getting as far away as possible, but at the moment she recognizes that parts of her heart are empty with nothing else to fill them with.

* * *

The lush of the gardens mesmerizes as they stroll through the pathways surrounding the castle. It takes time to get used to walking together when Mira is short and his steps are larger than hers. Even in that they stumble, and Delrin knows he’s stiff, and she’s tense.

It will become easier with time. There is no other way. They share a life; they sleep in the same bed. They can’t remain strangers, but how to move forward, how to get passed the sense of awkward between them?

Why does he think that the distance between them is greater than yesterday, the walls higher? Is it just his imagination or is it the reality setting around for Mira, when she’s looking around this place, knowing she will spend her _whole_ life here?

She might _never_ see Hasmal again. He _knew_ that, and yet now it dawns on him. Unless the world changes irrevocably, he could never take her there even if he wanted to.

However unhappy her home might have been, she lost more than that. 

What did she get in return? 

Perhaps every husband feels the weight of responsibility following the wedding, but it surely must be sweetened by if not love then the comfort of familiarity. 

His wife is lovely, sweet, and kind. He _wants_ to get to know her, and it shouldn’t be a chore. The basic conversations become charged now, the mere flirtation inappropriate. For the first time, Delrin finds himself in the company of a beautiful woman and doesn’t know what to do. 

Has he misstepped already? 

She gets nervous around him sometimes. If he asks why, it will come off as an accusation. 

Instead he wishes he was somewhere else, and the shame floods him.

“It’s beautiful here, no wonder your mother is proud. The whole estate is stunning.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, and he means it.

“I’ve never seen so many kinds of roses at once.”

“Yes,” he smirks. “Some of them have thorns, as I painfully found out falling out of the window right there when I was maybe seven years old.”

“Were you a trouble maker?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” he frowns, “although I suppose you would have to ask my parents. I always had a lot of freedom, and I scraped my knees plenty of times, but I wasn’t very mischievous. I’ve always liked exploring, though.”

“Is that why you chose the Order?”

“I’m the second son, and my brother is, as you well know, older. He already had a son when I was a child myself. My father thought the Order would suit me. I—I wouldn’t agree with this, knowing what I know now. I’ve always had talent for fighting though, I suppose. What about you?”

“Are you asking about fighting or whether I was mischievous?”

Is this the faint amusement he reads on her face?

“Both, if you’d indulge me,” he tries.

“I was a quiet child,” Mira admits, “and I had only a few _karabela_ lessons. I’m sure it’s easy to imagine that I’ve never shown much promise.”

She would not be here otherwise.

“However,” she adds, and finally, he sees a smile on her smile, however restrined, “yesterday you asked about my riding experience. There was no opportunity in the cloister, but before, as a child, I spent a lot of my days in the saddle.”

“Believe me, the tales of Hasmali horses are known even in Ferelden. They say—,” he chokes on his own words. “They say that they are the most beautiful horses in the world.”

Delrin caught himself in time. He almost said something different. _Fuck_. _They say that a Hasmali will sooner sell a daughter than a horse._

“They are,” Mira agrees. 

He could hurt her, and that scares him, but they can’t avoid to communicate. Even with as little as he knows, he already found out some truths about her.

They carry on the conversation, moving through the gardens, and Delrin thinks he should not only be doing more, but _better._

* * *

The water in the tub is pleasantly warm, and Mira prolongs her bath before the inevitable. She has imagined a few things about marriage, but not that her husband would be so disinterested. Whatever his reason is, Mira looks at another negligee hanging on the bathroom door and wonders whether she should put it on.

After all, their union has offered her more than it has given him, and it stings to acknowledge that. She would like to wallow in sadness over her circumstances, but Delrin has been the reason she could leave her father’s grasp. For her, their marriage is an opportunity. For him, it is only a burden. He has gained nothing for himself, except perhaps a body to warm up his nights, but that doesn’t seem to spark his interest either. Would it be better if he touched her when it’s not her he yearns for? It wouldn’t, so Mira feels embarrassed by her own heartache. 

What does he imagine their marriage to be? Does he imagine it will last, or is he truly considering a way out, a solution that would ensure the treaty’s success and yet would not require him to sacrifice his personal life forever?

Mira _could_ like him. In a sense, she already does, and she still hasn’t let go of the affections she felt throughout the wedding. The swirling emotions are not just about her survival, but they touch upon the more private hurt. He’s her _husband_ , she said the vows, and she’d like to try to find what’s behind them. There’s no other man she can let herself know, and he might not want to know her back.

The negligee is not sheer this time. She couldn’t handle him not bearing to look at her again. It’s still pretty, made from a soft pink fabric, trimmed with lace and tied with the ribbons in the front.

_One day_ , Mira reminds herself. That’s all it’s been, and that’s such a short period of time when they don’t even know each other yet. 

When she steps towards their bed, his nose is buried in some papers and he doesn’t even glance in her direction. Why is she still upset when she expected this? 

Even the bedding feels cold.

“Actually, Mira?” Delrin whispers and her heart almost stops.

“Y-yes?” She replies as the blush sneaks up on her face and neck.

Would he _actually_ make a move now?

“Would you like to go on a ride with me in the morning before my training? It would need to be early, but it would be nice to spend some time together outside the estate, and I thought you might enjoy being back in the saddle. I have an idea where we could go.”

_Oh_ , well, that’s not what she thought he’d ask, but honestly that’s a bit of relief. Yesterday she was eager and curious because they had kissed, and they had danced, and they had flirted, but throughout the whole day today he was rather formal, and Mira wishes for _more_. Still, Delrin wants to spend time together, and horse riding sounds rather lovely. He must have paid attention to her words, even if he seemed distracted.

“Yes,” she smiles coyly. “I would like that.”

“Great,” a smile lights up his face as well, reaching his eyes. 

He has the prettiest eyes. 

If he’s the only man she’s allowed to give her heart to, why wouldn’t she want to try? If they are truly to spend their lives together, how could she not hope to be able to find home in him? It is too soon for her to _truly_ want him, she knows that, but is it too soon to want everything else?

“Would you like me to pass you the reading candle? I think I’ll head to sleep.”

“No,” she says. “I am tired, too.”

The darkness covers them, but they share a duvet, and even though they’re not touching, she can feel his warmth and hear his breathing. 

Her husband is _right there_. She could lift her hand and touch him, but she cannot. He’s near, but she’s still alone. 

Nonetheless, tomorrow is a new day. 

“Tomorrow,” she hears him swallow. “I could bring breakfast here if that’s all right with you? We’ll likely be up before they serve it downstairs and—I thought it would be nice.”

“Yes,” Mira bites her lip. “It would be lovely.”

Maybe he is just more cautious and as lost as she is, but right now he’s trying. 

“Tea with three spoonfuls of honey?” He makes sure.

He has noticed that, too. She grins, staring at the ceiling.

“Please don’t judge me,” she tries to joke. “We rationed honey at the cloister, since we used it for medical purposes, too.”

He laughs, and a sense of peace finds her. 

“I would never judge, my lady,” he says. “I’ll wake you up tomorrow. Sleep well, Mira.”

“Sleep well, Delrin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more in the next chapter, and it should arrive much sooner. :)
> 
> karabela - a Hasmali sabre


	5. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin takes Mira horse riding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: misogyny, vulgar insults, microaggression, discrimination (not between the main protagonists)

It is still very early when Delrin carries the breakfast tray to the bedroom. He opens the door quietly and sets the tray on his side of the bed before looking at Mira. Her curls spread across the pillow like a fiery halo, her lips are slightly parted, the bedding around her disheveled.

The sight grips at his heart, so vulnerable and sweet. What is she dreaming of so peacefully, and in what tongue? What lies behind all her tentativeness and will he ever find out?

“Mira,” he calls.

She stirs, frowning, and slowly opens up her eyes, hazed from sleep.

“Hi,” she graces him with a smile brought from the land of dreams. 

Sweet Andraste, but she’s lovely. 

“Good morning. I brought breakfast,” he hands her a cup of tea and moves the tray closer.

They eat together in bed; he’s sitting on the edge, watching Mira put fresh strawberries into her mouth and trying his hardest to not let his eyes linger on the cleavage of her nightgown, when it would take only one move of pulling the ribbon to—

— _No_ , he’s certainly a better man than this. She might be his wife, but they had just met. It’s only natural he finds her attractive, but he has no right to more, not even in his thoughts. 

At the stables, Master Edmund has readied the horses, and Delrin learns that Mira is indeed confident in the saddle. The tales of Hasmali cavalry and their winged armors are known even in Ferelden, and Delrin has fought them himself. Not a good conversation topic to bring up, but when he looks at his bride wearing her breeches, her etched leather shoes and a shirt embroidered in a Hasmali pattern, it really strikes him that she comes from a different world. Not as Surma’s daughter, that is incidental, but as a woman who grew up speaking differently than him, looking at a different landscape than him, eating different food than him, following different customs than him, and now, she has been uprooted. 

_Here_.

Barrfield is beautiful, from the wheat fields to the meadows covered in wildflowers. They ride fast, Dot struggling to catch up, and by the time they enter the forest Mira’s cheeks are red from the effort, and she’s _laughing_. For the first time, he sees her so unrestrained.

“That was wonderful,” she tells him. “Where do we go now?”

“Not far. We can tie the horses here.”

After only a short walk, they reach the spot where the bluebells cover the forest floor, drowning it in a sea of violet-blue. The sunlight falls through the crowns of tall trees and casts a golden glow. 

“It’s stunning,” Mira gasps.

“I thought you would enjoy the bluebells. Do you want to sit down?”

“I would love to, but I almost feel like we’re intruding upon the forest.”

“We are, in a way, but we can be careful. There’s a log on the right, by the massive tree, we could sit right there?” He gestures, and she follows his suggestion. 

“Bluebells,” she repeats. “You know, there are flowers in Hasmal that we call forest bells, but they are not like this. I’ve never seen a view like this, it’s really beautiful.”

“That makes me even happier,” he watches Mira as she looks around with awe on her face. “I have quite the few places around Barrfield that I like to visit periodically.”

“So what do you usually do?,” she asks, snapping her gaze back at him. 

“Sometimes I just sit like this and absorb it all. I like nature, anywhere I go, but there’s something about this area that just never loses its magic for me. I like discovering spaces like this, too. Whenever I travel, I tend to look seek to find that hidden spot, not to claim as my own but to be able to return to and soak it all in once again. Barrfield area holds most of my secret places to get lost in.”

“That’s quite… poetic.”

“I suppose I’m guilty of that,” he chuckles.

“ _Oh_ ,” she sighs. “I didn’t mean it in as a criticism, quite the contrary, I’m sorry—“

“— _No_ ,” he interrupts her gently. “I know, I was just… teasing.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she says again, looking down. “I suppose I shall apologize for that then.”

“Most definitely not,” he smiles. “Would you like some elderberry shrub before we talk more of poetry?”

It makes her laugh, at least. He _finally_ makes her laugh. It’s endearing to see her relax her stance. 

“I don’t think I know what shrub is in that context, but sure.”

* * *

Shrub, as it turns out, is a type of drink based on vinegar and sugar served in Ferelden. It’s sweet and tangy, and somehow the taste fits their surroundings of a whimsical forest. On the first glance, it all looks familiar, as if the same place existed somewhere in Hasmal, but when she examines it carefully, the flowers are not quite the same. Ferelden, Mira decides, lulls her in a sense of familiarity just to surprise her over and over again. 

One thing is surely different, and that is the company. Mira has never been properly courted and well, they are already married, so perhaps this isn’t it either, but her palms still sweat when she’s holding onto the steel cup of Delrin’s steel flask. 

“Poetry, then,” her husband says, looking at her. “I wonder what you’ve read the most.”

“Lots of Hasmali pastoral poems about the Maker’s glory in the beauty of all our abundant lowlands and our rich forests and our crystal clear mountain lakes.”

“Right.”

“I thought you’d appreciate, since you like nature,” she dares and his eyebrow twitches a bit.

“Are you teasing me now, my lady?”

“A little,” she blushes. “That would be a proper answer about poetry, I suppose.”

“I am going to assume there’s a less proper answer?”

“We don’t talk about it out loud, but I guess a Fereldan forest is the safe place to bring it up.”

“You certainly got me curious on what passes as inappropriate poetry in the Hasmali cloister.”

“Not the banned Tevene love poetry, if that is what you imagine,” she scoffs and that catches the surprise in his eyes. “You _did_ imagine it, didn’t you?”

The sudden boldness of her implication warms the blood in her veins. “Delrin, I didn’t mean to scandalize you—“

“—I am _far_ from scandalized, believe me. Just a bit astonished how predictable my Fereldan Templar experience is, after all.”

“My cloister was in the north, close to the Tevene border. It’s a world apart from the Imperium, and yet it is not. The life at the peripheries provides a different outlook, and believe me, a lot of travelers need infirmary for one reason or another, and with them, they bring books and stories.”

Delrin grins. “So what is the poetry you truly like?”

“Not every idea can be spoken freely and out loud,” she measures her words. “but sometimes, it can be concealed. In Hasmali, there is a movement called _the dead poetry_ —“

“Because the authors could die for what they write?”

Spoken like a soldier, Mira thinks and shakes her head. “Because the poets bury their meaning between the lines. But yes, nobody wishes to enrage the _knyaz_ , either.”

He rubs his forehead as if embarrassed, and she derives some pleasure from it, because he rarely seems flustered.

“Now I worry you must find me a boor,” he says.

If he worries, it means he wants her to have a high opinion of him, and that he cares. Mira gives him a smile. 

“I believe I called you _poetic_ not that long ago. So what poetry you like? Or, you know, just literature?“

“Oh, so you lowered the standards of the conversation already. I do read poetry at times aside from all the Chant of Light verses I had to learn by heart when I was a Templar.”

He’s teasing, and now she knows it. 

“Well, then,” Mira encourages him and then her breathing stops for a second because Delrin’s eyes linger on her lips for a second too long.

* * *

The feeling catches Delrin somewhere in the forest and doesn’t let go when they ride back to the stables. His duties can’t wait much longer, but he wishes he would have more time with Mira, because she has revealed more of herself, and he’s charmed. 

Before he had hoped that they would find some affection in their marriage and he has always found her beautiful, but the spark of curiosity has ignited deep within. There is shyness around her, the aura of caution, but he has sensed the warmth behind. Now he also knows that she’s witty and funny, and thoughtful, and compassionate. 

Is it too soon to ask for a kiss after he walks Mira back to the castle? They have kissed before on their wedding day, and Delrin hasn’t forgotten the sweet taste of her lips, but now that they share their daily life, every gesture seems inherently forward. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t escape his attention how she smiled at him, and how she teased him and flirted a little. Never in his life has he been a man to jump to conclusions, but Mira seems to regard him with some fondness, too, and even two days ago when his lips were on hers, she reciprocated every caress. 

Sweet Andraste, she’s his _wife_. That gives him no rights, but it certainly doesn’t seem out of place to yearn for a kiss after a lovely outing together.

She flusters a bit when he helps her out of the saddle. Master Edmund rushes in to take over the horses, and when Delrin offers Mira his arm, she doesn’t hesitate, free of awkward rigidness. He can’t help but to smirk as they slowly walk to the stables together. 

The laughter erupts behind the stables’ wall, and Mira jolts in surprise. Before Delrin has a chance to reassure her, the voices reach him:

“No wonder Barris has yet to come to the drill. Surma’s daughter, imagine that, delivered straight to his bed! The things he must be doing to her!“

“He had to marry her, though. Now he fills the Hasmali bitch and every stray she gives him is a lord or a lady? Ain’t worth it. She ain’t even that pretty.”

Mira stops abruptly, holding her breath.

“ _Wait_ ,” he tells her as softly as he can, marching towards the entrance, fury set afire. 

“A cunt is a cunt, don’t pity—“

The soldiers shut up the second he opens the door, staring at him so scared as if they are about to shit their pants. Good.

“ _Cap-Captain_ ,” one of them dares, “We—“

“Command room by the armory!” he seethes. “You are _not_ to move until I get there and deal with you personally. My direct order. _Now!_ ”

 _Fuck_. Those are the Inquisition soldiers, insulting _his wife_ under _his roof_. He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down, vaguely registering that his heart is thudding. He moves his head to see Mira, still standing in the same exact spot he has left her at as if turned to stone. Her cheeks are red and patchy and so is her cleavage, and her eyes are fixed on her feet. His chest tightens in a mixture of protectiveness and embarrassment joining his anger. Sweet Andraste.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he whispers, walking up to her and instinctively touching her arm. 

Mira shudders, so he retrieves his hand.

“Mira,” he repeats, “I’m truly very sorry. That is absolutely unacceptable, and those soldiers will be disciplined. I’m sorry, I will make sure it won’t happen again and I won’t allow anyone to treat you this way.”

She nods, not speaking a word, and Delrin wishes there would be something he could say to make it better. 

His throat dries, and he watches her wipe her face, still hiding from him.

“I will take you home, all right?”

* * *

Mira has always tried to withhold her tears. Voivode Surma has never had patience for feeble emotions, especially if he was the cause of distress. He welcomed tears only when they flattered his ego. 

Now, her husband does not seem prone to anger or outbursts of any sorts. He’s calm, his voice level, but even so, he is a stranger, and she doesn’t want him to see her that vulnerable, not when she can’t be sure if wants that at all.

“I could stay with you,” he offers.

Her eyes sting, watery and red.

“No,” she manages. “I’ll be fine, please don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

She can feel him studying her carefully.

“They are waiting for you,” Mira adds out of desperation.

“All right,” he relents. 

No, Delrin does not seem like a man to push boundaries. 

“I’m sorry, Mira,” he continues. “I promise you, you’re safe here. I will keep you safe and— _I promise_. I will see you later. Please don’t hesitate to send for me if you need me.”

“I will,” she agrees. 

She won’t. 

Mira waits as long as she can after he leaves their bedroom before she breaks down crying.

* * *

To say that he is angry would be a massive understatement. Delrin’s not angry, he’s _furious_ , and the more he lets the rage simmer, the more it rises to the surface.

Cullen sits behind his desk while Cassandra paces across the small room, glaring at the soldiers. Of course, he had to tell both the Commander and Seeker Pentaghast what had happened. The protocol demands it, and he doesn’t need any accusations that this is only a personal matter.

“You represent the Inquisition forces,” Cullen hisses, tapping his fingers on the desk. “We are the guests of Bann Barris. You are obliged to follow the proper conduct. Behavior like this is _wrong_ , and you stain our good reputation. More, you could cost us an alliance. Captain Barris’ commitment to the Inquisition has provided us with immense opportunities. Bann Barris graciously allows us to stay at the castle and use his resources. He fully expects the members of his family to be safe and comfortable at their own home, and _I have given him my word_. Captain Barris expects his wife to be safe and treated with respect, and _I personally guarantee it_. I am responsible for you, and _this is how you behave_?!”

Delrin wishes to add something, but he knows better than to waste his breath when his superior is handling it. 

The soldiers at least have decency to look frighten. 

“If I ever hear any of you utter similar words about anyone, civilian or not, noble or not, I assure that the Inquisition will punish you and _I will personally oversee it,_ ” Cassandra barks, not even trying to hide her frustration. 

“You lose the privilege of free movement across the estate,” Cullen announces. “For the next three weeks, you will only move between the grounds and the barracks, and you are not allowed excursions to the village. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Commander,” the answer comes in unison. 

“Off now. Report to Ser Lysette.”

The men leave, and Barris lets out a deep breath.

“How’s Mira?” Cassandra asks, and Delrin glances at her. 

He didn’t know his wife and the Seeker were on the first name basis.

How can he answer the question? Does he even have the right to answer it for Mira? She didn’t even want him to see how upset she was, he gathered that much. 

“She is… _safe_ ,” he concludes awkwardly, but Cassandra doesn’t press.

Really? Is that all he can give the woman he married? He doesn’t know if she’s all right, or what she feels exactly. Every glimpse of connection he finds, he loses momentarily, not wishing to seem overeager.

Later, when Delrin oversees the training practice with his squadron, the thoughts keep running through his head. He followed the appropriate protocol; and it is the _only_ right way. He can’t treat the soldiers who fall under his command as random strangers accosting his woman, but… Would that be what Mira expects? Will she disappointed that he took no harsher stance?

Bann Barris would likely take a harsher stance himself, if anyone spoke that way about his own wife. Still, Delrin is not his father, and their military paths differ. The world is different now, too, and however angry he is, there is no other punishment he could offer for words meant to stay private.

Voivode Surma would kill those men, wouldn’t he? The mere idea fills Barris with contempt and disgust. To take a life in any circumstances should never become easy. Delrin has killed many people, not once carelessly, and it already weights on him at times. Outside of the battle, killing is reserved for the harshest crimes.

Certainly not for the soldiers crudely commenting on his wife, however disgusting their words were.

Would Mira agree, or find him weak? It wouldn’t change his principles, but a pang of concern appears. She is here, and she is his duty, but what if everything he provides _disappoints_ her? 

What a defeatist thought. Once more, he has no right to make assumptions, and certainly not of this sort.

It’s just a painful turn of a day that started so lovely.

* * *

By the time Mira descends downstairs to join for the afternoon tea in the sitting room, there are no discernible signs of crying on her face. Her cheeks are reddened anyway, passing for rosy. Her eyes shine, but it could easily be blamed on her complexion. 

Lady Adriana beams at the sight of her, and Mira smiles back, cognizant that they are in the company of other women, either extended family or friends. There’s Katherine, of course, and Lucille, and aunt Maude, the one who made a saucy comment during the wreath burning ceremony, and lady Clara, Bann Barris’ cousin and few other women representing local noble families from lands neighboring Barrfield that Mira already met. The only new person is a young woman holding a baby. Delrin’s mother introduces her as lady Dorothea Egerton, a daughter of her closest friend. Her baby son’s name is Matthew, and he is six months old. 

There’s no talk of war per se as they sit around the room, eating scones and sipping tea, although Mira suspects it’s not because the ladies don’t care, but because it would be inappropriate for the occasion. Nonetheless, she draws some comfort from listening to the ordinary conversation as baby Matthew passes hands, allowing everyone to coo over him.

After a day like this, she can’t wait for baby snuggles.

Little Matthew laughs and tries to blabber when lady Adriana plays a game of peekaboo with him, and Mira can’t help her own smile. 

Finally, it’s her turn, but before she lifts up her hands, Matthew’s mom gets up and rushes to pick him up.

“Oh, I got him now,” lady Dorothea says nervously, glancing at Mira before she retrieves to sit on the sofa, cuddling her son.

It hurts. Mira wishes she was haste in her conclusion, but the look on her mother-in-law face leaves no room for over interpretation. She is the only woman here not allowed to touch the baby, because, _well_ …

_Because of who she is._

Everything hurts as if walked through thousands of spruce needles; all the little prickles adding and adding up. 

Who she is will never leave her. There is no changing that, no more than she already has.

Her husband might give her his name and his nationality, this side of the sea and the roof over her head, and it is not enough. For some, nothing will ever be enough. Mira will always be, if not the enemy, then… _inna_. 

Other.

* * *

At the end of the practice, Delrin spars with Cassandra. He can defeat Cullen with relative ease, he’s faster than Bull, but Cassandra is a warrior in her own right, the rarest kind of skill and passion. He wins one duel, barely, and loses every other one, but the effort and focus distract him well enough.

Cassandra smiles under her nose, thanking him, and Delrin catches a sight of a person standing on the sidelines of the fighting grounds, watching him. 

“You are good,” his father compliments. 

“No match for the Seeker, at least today,” Delrin admits, raising his eyebrow. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Commander Rutherford sent the word regarding today’s… _incident_ ,” Bann Barris says. 

The ugly taste of failure resurfaces in Delrin’s mouth.

“It’s been dealt with,” he knows he sounds defensive.

He _is_ defensive. Throughout the years, there have been disagreements between him and his father, concerning the matters of estate and his duties to the Order or now to the Inquisition. Bann Barris has always fought under his own banner. His main concern is Barrfield and their freeholders, and the same goes for Calvin. Delrin, however, has been raised as a knight through and through.

Part of him awaits his father to scorn him or to lecture him, but instead he just pats him on the shoulder.

“I would apologize to lady Mira on my behalf, as the head of this household,” Bann Barris sighs. “but I’d rather be… _delicate_ , and it does not seem a prudent idea.”

“No,” Delrin grits his teeth, thinking of all the ways Mira tried to hide in front of him. “Please, don’t bring it up. I will talk with her.”

“Good, then. Your mother is hosting tea, I believe. It should calm down soon enough, but as you well know, the wedding and festivities around have provided opportunities to extend the support for the Inquisition.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he remarks, aware that his father initially expressed reservations towards the organization.

“We crossed the bridge now,” his father replies, pensive. “Commander Rutherford said that the Hasmali started withdrawing from Nevarra.”

 _Yes_ , Delrin swallows, he’s read reports as well. The truce has worked so far.

He can’t think of it this way. It has stopped being about the truce the second he took Mira as his wife. A person with whom he is to be with for the rest of his life, and there is no way to forget about it, even for a second, not when he falls asleep and wakes up next to her. 

The tension floats in the air like the metallic smell before thunder. Everyone around is walking the eggshells. However long he has lived outside Barrfield, he knows his family and he can see the changes in their behavior. He brought this on everyone, adding a new member of the family. 

What could he offer her without that? His parents will always welcome him here, thank the Maker. Otherwise, he imagines he would be stuck in Haven with a new, terrified stranger-wife, among a much larger number of soldiers— _This is better._

Much better.

And yet he feels less of a man.

* * *

Sometimes there’s thunder inside Mira’s heart. Perhaps the image seems melodramatic, but it is thunder, loud and scary and trembling.

It’s quiet on the outside. Not always, to be truthful. She’s just a person, after all, with a full range of emotions. She has cried each day of her marriage so far, stealing the privacy to let herself be raw and bare. Nobody can hide all the time.

The walls are rising nonetheless. The tea tastes as delicious as before, and the scones melt in her mouth, and yet each bite turns into a claggy mess that’s hard to swallow. The plush of the sofa is comfortable, and yet Mira is sitting on edge. 

This is a home. A beautiful, lovely home upon which she _intrudes._

It’s not her fault. None of this is on her, and yet she can’t shake off the feeling that she is the one in the wrong by the mere act of her existence. 

Bann Barris and lord Calvin are the first to walk in, and Mira chastises herself for the fluttering in her stomach when she looks around for Delrin. He comes several minutes later, dressed in dinner clothes, smiling, immediately catching the attention of everyone in the room.

When he greets her and sits down next to her, she can smell his soap mixed with perfume. The scent of the forest and citruses and amber that stays in their bedroom ever after he’s gone. It’s always there, and she likes it, but it doesn’t mean she should seek solace in it. 

Whatever longing floats through her veins, it leaves the aftertaste of shame. 

Delrin gets to hold baby Matthew, gently bouncing him on his lap. Mira wouldn’t call his movements certain, but he doesn’t seem awkward around the child. His laughter is genuine, and the baby responds to it, giggling as well. 

It hurts, too. A different kind of hurt, when Mira thinks of all that could be, watching her handsome husband play with an adorable baby. She has never thought she could have a family. Now…. _What happens now_? 

The words of the soldiers ring in her ears. 

Does he think so too, deep inside his soul, when he looks at her? That she’s _rotten_ , and—It didn’t seem that way this morning, but she has already misunderstood his intentions once and got caught in a fantasy.

Mira is not quick enough to turn away when their eyes meet, and Delrin catches her staring. Why does she even feel ashamed? That’s her husband, and he smiles at her with enough warmth to bewilder her further. 

Would it be easier if she felt nothing at all? 

“Would you like to hold him?” Delrin asks, turning Matthew to face her, and the baby reaches his hand to try to touch her curls.

“ _Oh_ ,” Mira whispers, panicked, because she would like to and she _can’t_. “I—uhm, no, thank you.”

It doesn’t matter how composed her husband is, he can’t mask the brief confusion on his face. He cuddles the baby further, and Mira’s stomach twists and turns in sadness. She could explain, but not here, and not now, later.

It means that she will need to bring it up out loud, and reveal herself, and it is hard. It’s hard to know she must prove she’s not heartless or evil, that she’s different from her father, that she’s… just Mira. 

“You’re not a baby person?” Delrin follows up, and while his voice does not betray any judgement, it feels odd to hear it from a man she could have children with.

“I am,” she says, unable to add anything more, because her chin already trembles, and there’s a whole dinner ahead of them before she can return to the semi-privacy of their quarters. 

The walls are closing in, and Mira withdraws, afraid that if she allows any emotion to spill, the thunder will swallow her whole.

* * *

They might be almost strangers, but Delrin can easily see the effort Mira puts into remaining calm. There’s more she feels than she lets on, and he wants to say something, do something right for once, but she’s already in his house and in his bed, and her guard is so high up that he’s afraid to startle her. 

She ate little during dinner and spoke even less. Now she’s lying perfectly still right next to him, facing away, stiff and tense. Such a contrast to the peacefulness of this morning, when she smiled to him so sweetly. 

That’s his wife, his responsibility, and she’s upset, and he is a fool who doesn’t know how to talk with her, because in truth, he has earned little trust and none of the affection. None of this was her choice, and now she’s here, with him. 

“Mira?” He asks softly.

“Yes?” He hears the crack in her voice.

“How do you feel? Today—“

“A bit thirsty?” She cuts him off so quickly.

That’s not it, but the message is clear.

“Would you like some tea? I can go to the kitchen and bring the pot.”

“Could you, really?”

“Sure,” he whispers. “I’ll make it just the way you like it. Would you like some pie, too? I’m sure I can snatch some from the pantry.”

“I don’t wish to be a bother—“

“I actually feel like getting a snack,” he lies, still full from dinner.

“All right,” she answers.

“It won’t take long.”

He gets up slowly, as if afraid that she’s shatter otherwise.

The kitchen buzzes with life, prepping for tomorrow, as there are still guests in the estate. Mistress Karla, the head cook, orders the fresh pot of tea and even pats him on the shoulder when he mumbles something about the pie, suddenly back to being that lanky ten-year-old who’d steal sweets here and there. This time, all Delrin needs is to ask, and he carefully carries the tray with tea and the strawberry rhubarb tart. 

By the time he reaches the stairs, he hears the muffled cry coming from the drawing room.

With no hesitation, he knocks on the door.

“Come on in,” his mother says and gasps at the sight of him, wiping away her tears. “Oh, sweetheart, I thought you were your father.”

 _Maker’s breath_. He looks at the beloved face of his mother, with her glowing rich brown skin, and the green eyes, same as his. He’d never say that out loud, but she has aged in the last years, and now, she seems tired. 

“I was just bringing some tea for Mira. Mom, what’s going in?”

“Nothing,” she winces, and then sighs. “It’s _my home_. A place I welcome people to, and I feel I’m failing to welcome a woman who’s by all means _my daughter_.”

He places the tray on the coffee table and guides his mother on the sofa.

“What happened today? Did Mira say anything to you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “She’s a lovely girl. Today… You held baby Matthew, right?”

“Yes?”

“Well, Dorothea passed the baby to every woman during the afternoon tea except Mira. Delrin, Mira seemed _so hurt_.”

 _Oh._ He swallows, cognizant that he actually asked if she liked babies. 

_Fuck_.

“ _Mom_ ,” he whispers, grabbing her hand.

“I talked with Sybil later, I thought maybe she could say something to her daughter, and she said—I won’t repeat what she said except that I’m _very_ cross with her and she’s leaving first thing in the morning.”

“I’m so sorry, mom.”

“I’m sorry,” her mouth trembles, and she furiously fixes the silk shawl protecting her hair. “Mira is so young and in a completely new place, and believe me, I would say many things to her parents If I ever had a chance to speak to them—“

“I bet you would,” Delrin smirks, although the lump forms in his throat. 

Whatever he can say, he has never lacked his mother’s love, and she is a remarkable woman.

“You know,” she breathes. “There are things you don’t know. Calvin was twelve when you were born and me and your father were settled in a perfectly happy routine, but I still remember how it felt to be young, and newly married, and suddenly in a new home, and your grandmother was, I’m sorry to admit it, a harsh person. I was utterly in love with your father on our wedding day, and so happy to marry, and I cried and missed home during those first months; and for Mira, _everything_ is foreign. I just want her to feel welcomed, and I vowed to never be like your grandmother—“

“You’re not,” he assures her. “Mom, you’re so warm and welcoming, and Mira likes being around you, I know that.”

More than she likes to be with me, he adds in his mind.

“I want you to be happy, sweetheart,” his mother lets out a little sob, and Delrin’s heart breaks. 

He doesn’t know how to answer, except that he wants that too; and all is new and fragile.

“Why are you even talking with me?” His mother scoffs all of a sudden. “I am not your duty, your wife is.”

“Can I walk—“

“I’ve been married to your father for over forty years. He will be here in a minute, as it is _his duty_ , I know it.”

“All right, mom. I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too, son. Now go and be a nice man we raised you to be.”

“Of course."

Sure enough, his mother was right, because as he climbs up the stairs, he sees his father walking down in his scarlet robe and slippers as proudly as if he was wearing armor. 

It takes one glance for Bann Barris to asses the situation.

“Is your mother in the drawing room?”

“Yes, she’s a bit upset—“

“I got it, son. The pastry is a nice touch, by the way.”

It’s not a good day, but something about that interaction brings him comfort, so when he walks into the bedroom and sees Mira’s face puffed up from crying, he vows to try to bring her comfort, too.

* * *

Her tears have dried up by now after a short but intense cry, but Mira knows she can’t exactly hide how her face looks. The sadness overwhelms her.

Everything she has ever dreamed of has always been outside Hasmal, but now she is on the outside too, and it is _lonely_.

All her life, Mira thought she understood loneliness, but the kind that hopes for more seems colder.

Delrin walks in carefully, and she has to look at him.

“Mira?” He whispers, voice like velvet. “I brought tea if you’d like some.”

“Thank you,” she nods when he sets the tray on the bed.

“There’s strawberry-rhubarb tart, too.”

“I like rhubarb,” she says, just to let the words fill the void.

“Good,” he passes her the fork, sitting in the bed next to her, just the tray between them.

She drinks her tea, sip by sip, prolonging the silence, but he doesn’t nudge her to talk, not yet.

“My mother told me what happened with baby Matthew,” he breathes. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s my responsibility,” he glances at her, and she tries to decide whether his words are formal or contrary.

They had a lovely time today, back in the forest filled with bluebells.

“I would never hurt a baby,” she mutters. “I never thought someone would look at me as if I could.”

“Nobody should, and I’m sorry. I really am, and the soldiers—They got disciplined and I assure you I won’t tolerate any such behavior.”

“That was just… _ugly_ ,” she shrugs. “The baby… I worked at the infirmary and took care of the sick. We had orphaned children at the cloister, too. To think that someone finds me… _dangerous_ to be around goes against all my being. I’m not even a warrior. I’ve worked to cure people, not maim them or kill them. _Oh, please forgive me—_ “

“No need,” he says, looking at her. “I am a soldier. I know what it means and I don’t take it lightly. Nobody should, not ever. Please, don’t worry.”

She still almost insulted her husband in his— _their_ bed.

“Mira,” he tries. “You can’t possibly offend me if that’s what you’re worried about."

The only way is forward, and she has to try. 

“May I?” She points her fork towards the tart, and he smiles.

“Sure. Would you like me to cut you a piece or would you mind to just dig in?”

Something about that question is so silly and ordinary that Mira can’t help the slight chuckle, because this is the most homely she has ever seen Delrin.

“I don’t mind,” she runs the fork through the shortbread crust, and the strawberries and rhubarb bleed through the cream layer.

It’s tangy and refreshing rather than sweet, and it’s soothing, too. 

Delrin carves out the piece, but it falls off his fork, staining the tunic he’s wearing.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, picking it up with his fingers and shoving it into his mouth. “I’m going to give up any pretense and just eat with my hands.”

All his composed manner slips further away, as the crumbs and the cream and the jam fall out of the tart once gain, and without thinking, Mira laughs.

At least he makes sure that the crumbs don’t land on her side of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slightly flustered, and some tension leaves the room.

“You’re fine,” she says, taking a slice of a pie in her hand, too, and biting through it.

He smiles to her as she licks her fingertips.

“Would you like to tell me something about you work at the infirmary?”

That she could do; so Mira takes a deep breath and begins to talk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all of your comments, truly. I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. Slowly, slowly, things are progressing.
> 
> Shrub is a sort of vinegrated fruit syrup that can be mixed with water. Usually carbonated water, here with just plain water. 
> 
> Inna - different/foreign/the other
> 
> Fereldan bluebell would be Hyacinthoides non-scripta, and Hasmali forest bell Campanula patula (sometimes called bellflower in English).


	6. Small Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When guests arrive at Barrfield, Delrin and Mira face a lot of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at the beginning.
> 
> Content warning: background infidelity and implied/reference domestic abuse (nothing graphic)

Mira’s thighs straddle Delrin as she rolls her hips, riding him in earnest. The flush of desire covers her face and cleavage, and her heavy breasts bounce with every move. She’s exquisite, and it feels exquisite, and she’s _his_. Her moans fill the air, and he moans as well, and then she whispers his name, digging her fingers into his chest, and _oh,_ the pleasure tightens, and— _something’s wrong_.

The vision fades, leaving Delrin to groan out of frustration. He blinks and opens his eyes.

Fuck.

The bed is empty, but he can hear the sounds of water splashing. Mira is up, taking a bath.

The images appear in his mind instantly, how her skin looks covered with droplets—

 _No_. It’s only natural to feel desire when he finds her beautiful and each night he gets to fall asleep by her side, and it’s been awhile since he took care of his needs.

Sweet Andraste, now he thinks of Mira pleasing herself, her legs spread, ankles hooked on the side of the tub—

 _No_. They have established some rapport and trust in those last couple of days, and he won’t ruin it, and he won’t get distracted. 

Maker help him. His cock is hard as a rock, so he’s stuck in the bed trying to think of anything aside of how _scrumptious_ his wife is, and how he bites his fingers just to not let her show it.

Mira walks out of the bathroom, wearing a blue gown that clenches her waist and reveals a bit of those perfect, glorious breasts that he could bury his face in. _Damn_. 

“Good morning,” she smiles, warm and kind, and shame falls on him. 

“Good morning,” he answers. 

What would she think if she knew what he was thinking about? He hopes for her to match his desire one day, but they’ve known each other for a week, and he has been so busy with the Inquisition so that they have barely seen each other outside of mealtime and bedtime. 

Now he watches her, fixing her copper curls by the mirror. Her beauty draws him in, more familiar with each passing day, and lovelier for it, when it carries the mark of more than the external. The way she looks at her reflection so seriously, the facial expressions she makes, the sound of her voice and the manner in which she speaks, and how striking her laughter is when he gets to hear it.

“What?” She asks suddenly, noticing his stare.

“You’re lovely,” the words spill and then she stills, drilling her gaze into him.

Sweet Andraste.

“It’s a lovely dress,” he adds, warming up at the foolish idea that she could guess his most carnal thoughts. “I like the blue, it’s my favorite color.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes, and then lights up with a bright smile. “Thank you.”

Delrin smiles too, thinking that today could be slow-paced. Perhaps he’ll get to spend more time with his charming wife, to learn her, to get to know her, to let her learn him more, too.

* * *

It seems a good day. Two days ago Mira cried her eyes out, but since then there have been no tears. There have been little else, with Delrin spending hours each day at the fighting grounds and planning the for the next mission with Commander Rutherford, but Mira has spent most of her life surrounded by soldiers, and the rest at the cloister.

She is patient. 

Each day, he made sure to be home for luncheon and dinner. Each time, he placed a kiss on her forehead upon welcoming her or saying goodbye. Perhaps it is insignificant, as Delrin doesn’t truly show her any romantic affection, but each night, they talk. She has learned that he draws, and he has learned that she sings. It might mean nothing; it’s impossible to be so close and not open mouths to each other, but she hopes it means _more_. 

Even to herself it is difficult to admit the fleeting thoughts that come and go. She tries to guard herself, but it is getting harder. When she discovered his art, complimenting the botanical drawings in the sitting room that he had made himself, he spent the evening showing her his various doodles and sketches, and Mira couldn’t help but to think that he’s sensitive, and smart and impressive, _and hers_. 

She told him she liked singing, to give something of herself, too. He didn’t ask, but she sang nonetheless, an old lullaby, one of those that sisters would hum to children. He said that her voice was beautiful and smiled at her. 

Delrin’s lips are warm, she knows that from their wedding. When they lie together in bed, and the heat radiates from his skin, she wants to cuddle with him. His stubble got longer, and she wonders how it feels now. He’s tall and built like a warrior, and when she gazes at him wearing his bedtime clothes, she imagines how it would be to learn him like a wife should know her husband. 

Today, he called her _lovely_ , the only time aside of the wedding day, and Mira tries to ignore the fluttering around her stomach. It’s reckless, it’s foolish, but her blood runs warmer than it seems. It always has. 

The breakfast passes, and now it’s time to welcome another set of guests arriving at the estate. It’s a busy time, and she realizes that the goal of it all is not merely social, but to get support for the Inquisition. This part reminds her of her Hasmali childhood, although here she examines her each move, unsure if she gets all the cultural norms right.

“I received a raven from Barry Cromwall,” lord Calvin says. “Guess who accompanies him? Gwen and her husband.”

“Really?” Delrin asks. “It’s been a while.”

Mira has no idea who any of those people are, but some nervousness befalls her, remembering the interactions with baby Matthew. Lady Dorothea is no longer at the castle, and neither is her mother. They were called back home due to some pressing matter and they won’t attend the party tomorrow, but Mira knows that more people think of her _that way_ , even if they never show it. Just that awareness is enough, although it doesn’t sour her mood, not today, not when Delrin smiles to her so warmly.

The carriages arrive, and the guests keep coming in, and Mira focuses to appear pleasant when each pair of eyes stops on her to assess her and pass judgement. 

Perhaps she’s unfair. Perhaps it always feels like this in a new home.

Soon enough, she’s back in the sitting room again, wondering how soon things will quiet down.

So many new names, so many new people, and she must play her part and fulfill the expectations. Half the time she thinks some expect her to fail, to reveal the inherent Hasmali _barbarism_ , to say something outrageous and wrong, and she does not want to prove them right.

Mira knows how to be polite, and she has her pride. 

The man next to her on the sofa is lord Kenneth Ocallaghan, and he seems the youngest of the crowd. Delrin sits next to lady Gwendolyn Meighan, sister of Bann Cromwall. Lady Gwendolyn’s husband, lord Merton Meighan leans back in the armchair. This time, few of the members of the Inquisition accompany them. There’s Commander Rutherford, talking to Bann Cromwall and lord Calvin, and Cassandra herself, listening to lord Merton. The Iron Bull sits alone, and Mira wonders if he’s the only person who knows how she feels. His face never betrays much. He’s so calm. No wonder he’s Delrin’s closest friend.

“I’ve been to Hasmal once, my lady,” lord Kenneth says, and that is enough to catch Mira’s attention. 

“You have, my lord?”

“Yes, we keep horses, and my father thought he might convince some Hasmali nobles to sell a stud or at least to loan one.”

“How did it go?” She asks, although she already knows the answer.

“I’m sure you can guess,” lord Kenneth runs his hand through his ginger hair. “My father did not realize the complexities. The whole _sejmik_ was called to decide what could they allow, and whether the loan of the horse would fall underneath the embargo on Hasmali horses to prevent the sales abroad. Still, it provided me with an opportunity to spend more time in your beautiful country.”

Mira expects mockery in those words, but everything about lord Kenneth screams of boyish honesty, eager to please.

“Where did you stay?” Mira follows up, somewhat amused, and then her eyes stop on Delrin across the room.

Lord Kenneth’s words blur as she pretends she’s still listening.

“We couldn’t make it to the wedding itself,” lady Gwendolyn says. “We had obligations at court in Denerim and given the circumstances—“

“—I understand, Gwen,” Delrin says. “It was—“

“How are you holding up?” The woman whispers, and then she places her hand on Delrin’s knee, and Mira’s heart clenches.

She might not understand everything of Fereldan culture, but this gesture is of inherent intimacy and wholly _inappropriate_ , and Delrin neither stops lady Gwendolyn’s hand right away nor acts surprised. 

It _burns_ , and Mira tries to extinguish the flame scorching inside, looking away. 

What did she expect? Fidelity is a part of Andrastian marriage, and it’s expected of her, but her father has had lovers while her mother could barely be in a room alone with another man. Delrin has always seemed honorable, and she has latched onto the idea that he is, but how can she know for sure?

He has yet to touch or kiss her, and she hasn’t permitted herself to initiate and touch him, and now another woman places her hand on his knee as if it was her _right_ , in the room full of people, even though they are both married.

The whirlwind of feelings dizzies Mira. Maybe she’s not as proud as she thinks. Maybe, stripping emotions to their core, she has just hoped that after years of loneliness, her sweet and handsome husband would notice her and like her. 

Maybe she has hoped that he would look at their marriage and be grateful for meeting her. That this would not be a burden, but a blessing. 

“The region of Podole has been mesmerizing,” lord Kenneth continues, unaware of any shift in her attention. “I thought the vast steppes would feel empty, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Part of me - do not let my father hear it, please - thinks maybe it is for the best we’ve never taken a horse out of those boundless meadowlands.”

Mira smiles to the man, too caught up in her thoughts to think of the reply. 

Horses have more freedom in Hasmal than women like her, so she couldn’t wait to step foot in Ferelden, but now she remains uprooted, with no home and no boundless steppes to dream of.

* * *

Delrin doesn’t think much when Gwen’s fingers brush against his arm, or when she pats him on the chest. He hasn’t seen her in three years, since the day of her wedding, and they are childhood friends. Barry, now Bann Cromwall, has always been one of Calvin’s closest friends, so Gwen used to tag along when they were children. 

At some point, he vaguely recalls, there might have been a talk on how they would be suitable to marry, but that was before he joined the Templars, and he has never given it much thought. She married up, as Merton, while not the Bann himself yet, holds a lot of privilege due to being the eldest son of Bann Alanna Meighen, one of the most prominent figures in eastern Bannorn. 

It is not until Gwen puts her hand on his knee that Delrin suspects something else is at play. 

“ _Gwen_ ,” he warns finally, and she takes off her hand with a sigh that makes him think it wasn’t incidental. 

It leaves a bitter distaste in his mouth. First of all, whatever that was, it certainly isn’t Gwen acting on any genuine emotion, and he dislikes being a pawn in someone’s game. Three years, and there has never been anything between them, so it catches him completely unguarded. Second of all, her damn husband is in the room; and the Inquisition could use Merton to get the support of Bann Meighen. Third of all, the absolute most important fact is that _he is newly married himself_ , and not only does he owe his wife respect, he wants to show it, and he wants to earn her trust and _more_. 

He glances at Mira across the room, chatting with Lord Kenneth. Thankfully she hasn’t noticed. He can see the straight line of her spine and the stiffness in the way she’s sitting, and the feeling of care and protectiveness rushes over him. She seems to get more shy and uncertain in front of others, and sweet Andraste, there have been far too many people at the estate and far too many demands placed on her. 

When their eyes meet, and he smiles to her, she blushes and looks away. Maker, everything is easier when they are alone. He wishes he could drop any social obligations today, but the whole party tomorrow is solely for the purpose of acquiring allies, and neither Cassandra nor Cullen are good at this, so he simply can’t abandon his duty.

Delrin almost growls out loud when Calvin announces the small game hunt for today, because he certainly is expected to attend. Not only it is not his favorite pastime, but if Mira doesn’t want to participate, he will spend hours without her when he wished to have more time together, not less.

* * *

“I won’t be able to get out of the hunt, I’m afraid,” Delrin says after they make it to their bedroom, “but you don’t need to join us if you don’t wish to. I wish for you to be comfortable.”

It is a nice gesture, but now she can’t help but think that he doesn’t want her presence when he’s with his… _friends_.

“Who’s attending the hunt?” She asks even though she feels pathetic for it. 

“Bann Cromwall, Calvin and Katherine and Tristan, Gwen and her husband, and lord Kenneth. I know my father’s back is bothering him, so he won’t be joining us.”

“I think I’d rather stay? I would be a nuisance, I’ve never really hunted.”

“You can never be a nuisance,” her husband assures her, as he should.

He does a lot as he should, and yet Mira constantly questions whether there is anything more behind his courtesy, or whether he gives her just enough care to fulfill his duty, as if she was a pet. 

_Worse than_. He’s a Fereldan, after all. His Mabari is more of a partner to him than she is.

“I’ll stay.”

“All right,” he doesn’t insist otherwise. “I’m sure you could spend some time with my mother.”

If Mira was less in control, she would pick up a pillow and toss it at him for doing it again, as if it was his responsibility to find her some occupation to assuage whatever guilt he carries. 

She didn’t marry his mother, for Maker’s sake.

“I will see Cassandra,” she remarks, just take a burden away from him. “Please, don’t worry about me.”

Delrin glances at her, surprised, and Mira swallows just to calm herself down. What is she doing, really?

“I wish you a good hunt,” she says.

“I hope you have a pleasant day, Mira,” he whispers. “I will see you at dinner.”

He leaves, this time without kissing her on the forehead, Dot following him faithfully.

Mira finds Seeker Pentaghast in a garden, talking to Commander Rutherford. She waits until the man leaves before calling for her.

“Mira,” the woman greets her, startled.

“I wonder if I could take you up on your offer to talk.”

“Sure,” Cassandra replies. “I actually have something for you. Would you mind stopping at my bedroom? It’s in the guest wing, on another side of the courtyard.”

It is a much simpler room than Mira expected for a guest of the Seeker’s stature, but then the warrior does not seem the type that fusses much. That is, until Mira notices the candles set up on the dresser, and the vials of various oils and perfumes.

“There it is,” Cassandra reaches underneath her bed and pulls out a leather satchel, opening it up.

It’s a set of medical tools, beautifully crafted and then another case, containing few potions.

“Is it volcanic aurum?” Mira gasps. “I’ve heard of the tools made of it.”

“The Inquisition has a very talented metalsmith at our disposal. Consider it a belayed wedding gift. Or better, an early birthday gift.”

“Thank you,” Mira says earnestly. “That is—I don’t know what to say. This is more than I expected, and I will keep my word. You planned for it before we met, didn’t you?”

“It is an honest gift,” the warrior counters. “I don’t expect you to open an infirmary here, but it would help if you had the ability to tend to injuries should the opportunity arise. Between you and me, and my uncle is a _Mortalitasi_ , and medicine in the South is more…”

“ _Rustic_?” Mira offers.

“ _Rustic_ ”, Cassandra agrees.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Mira repeats. “It’s really— _Thank you._ ”

“How’s your day? You’re not a hunter, are you?”

“To put it mildly. What about you? I’d expect you to hunt.”

“Maybe dragons, if they so appear,” Cassandra snorts. “But then I won’t have a choice. I can hunt, not as an entertainment. I’d rather stay and read or talk with you.”

“What are you reading?” 

Somehow the question makes the ever imposing Seeker turn a bold shade of red, and Mira sympathizes, as blushing plagues her complexion far too often. 

“Not the Tevene love poetry?” She nudges, and Cassandra laughs.

“Ugh. Just a book by lady de Vriere, you probably have never heard of her—“

“Which one? _‘The Winter’s Tale’_?

“You’re acquainted? _‘The Spring Garden’._ Are romances popular in Hasmali cloisters?”

“But of course they are. Sister Magdalena would always have the newest issue. I was reading ‘ _the Forever Promise’_ right before… my travel here.”

“I have that one,” Cassandra opens her nightstand drawer and hands Mira a book. “I mean, if you still wish to read it.”

Well, it’s not like there’s any real romance in her life.

“I would love to.”

* * *

Delrin couldn’t care less about the hunt. His family comprises avid hunters, and he’s capable with a bow, he just wishes for the time to pass quickly. Usually he values both the diplomacy and the influence behind social functions, but right now he feels tired, and it’s not like he hasn’t sacrificed for the cause already.

The guilt rises again. It’s so easy for the thought to pass through his mind. What is his suffering, exactly? A kind, smart and beautiful woman by his side? Few days of awkwardness when they try to meet each other? He fights for what he believes in; he’s surrounded by family and friends. He’s ungrateful, and he knows it. 

Mira is not difficult to read. He can pick up on her changing mood and the building tension. It’s the reasons for it he’s unsure of, but he doesn’t want to make it seem like she’s wrong for being upset. She’s been in Ferelden for a week, and so much has happened. Whatever she feels and however her mood shifts, none of it is unexpected. 

His mother said as much when she mentioned her own struggles after moving to Barr Castle as a newlywed; and for Mira, everything has changed. Every face, every landscape she had known she left behind. He himself gets caught in emotions thinking how much is on the line, and how he actually _craves_ the things he has never given much reflection before, taking them for granted.

Marriage is for life. They will find each other. 

It doesn’t help his mood that Gwen continues to laugh a little too loud at his anecdotes, and that she still seems to cling to his presence. He asks lord Kenneth to partner with him, just to avoid her, but the hostility between Gwen and lord Merton does not escape his attention.

Lord Kenneth is young, and eager, and apparently a self-appointed expert on Hasmal because of one bloody excursion, but somehow Delrin can’t mock his enthusiasm when he listens to the man. It adds to his guilt, not letting him forget how little he knows of where his wife is from, and how little of an effort he has put in to learn.

“Hasmali have a long tradition of falconry, just like Tevinter,” lord Kenneth says. “There use not only falcons, but other birds of prey. Only _knyaz_ and those closest to him are allowed to hunt with a white-tailed eagle, or _bielik_ , as they call them. _Knyaz_ has a beloved _bielik_ , Yarema. The lord who hosted us took me and my father hunting with his falcon, and I have to say, it was rather fascinating.”

Delrin considers himself well-read, and he must have encountered that information at least in Genitivi’s books, but to hear the awe in lord Kenneth’s words stirs his heart. The whole premise of the truce was to appease the enemy long enough to gain the military and economic advantage. Mira’s father is so blatantly evil it is easy to think of him as the enemy. _He is_ , and so is _knyaz_ Stravin and the current leadership of the Hasmali regime. 

There’s more to Hasmal, and Delrin has always known it, but he has rarely given it his full attention. He looks at Mira and tries to guess her pain to not add upon it, even by mistake, but there’s grace, and beauty, and wonder, and warmth in what made her, and she has attempted to share it. He’s not sure if he responded the way he should have. 

It’s a grand responsibility. It is her new home here, and he wants her to feel it. She owes him nothing, no dues to pay, _nothing_ , and yet perhaps he continues taking a comfortable approach.

He asks questions, but they are always careful. He shares with her, but he wonders how clear his intentions are. 

No matter, right now Mira’s stressed again because of the guests and their _curiosity,_ and it likely won’t change until after the party. She has warmed up to him in those last couple of days, so he has to be doing something right. After the castle empties again she will feel safer and he will be bolder in learning her properly. 

Finally, the hunt is nearing towards the end. Lord Kenneth eagerly follows when Katherine calls out to him to ask some questions regarding horses, and Delrin welcomes the moment of solitude before he sees lord Merton walking up to him, carrying two pheasants. Not bad for a mid-day hunt, but Delrin suspects it’s not the prey he wishes to discuss. 

_Sweet Andraste._

“Merton,” he greets him.

They are on the first name basis. He would not call it friendship, but he cannot deny their acquaintance. 

“Barris,” the man sighs. “Keep your guard down. I am not a senseless man. Gwen is acting out, and it is not on you, my friend. Woman’s folly. I thought it would pass by now and she’d come to her senses, but I’ve married a temperamental one who can’t seem to forget a little moment of indiscretion. Ignore her. I’d speak with her tonight, but I’d rather avoid a screaming match.”

Delrin knows better than to allow his true feelings show on his face, but he can imagine what betrayal hides behind ‘ _a little moment of indiscretion_ ’, and he’d rather not tell Merton what he thinks of it. Poor Gwen, really. He recalls their wedding and how happy she seemed that day.

Marrying for love does not protect from anguish.

Maker preserve him, it saddens him to think about it. It’s been years since he has talked privately with Gwen, but he remembers what she was dreaming of as a child. _Not that_. 

It cuts deeper, to the core. 

He would never be unfaithful. He made a vow, but it’s more than that. How could he look at himself and claim to be a man of honor? 

No, it’s more than honor, too. All his life, he has watched his father treat his mother with utmost devotion, and he has no doubts Calvin would do anything for Katherine, too. It _should_ be like this. He believes it, he breathes that belief. 

“I hope you will move passed any difficulties,” he says. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Merton waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I would not worry.”

It angers him on the principle, even though he says nothing.

“Well,” the man adds. “Lucky for you, I hear that Hasmali women are _very_ tolerant.”

Barris grits his teeth and ignores the remark.

Men like Merton always see other men as their equal. It angers them when someone reminds them of how low they stoop. 

Delrin doesn’t need Mira to be _tolerant_ that way. He’s her husband, and it matters. None of the circumstances change that. _It matters_ , and he yearns for marriage built on truth, on devotion, on respect. He might struggle at times to reach her, but it changes nothing in regard to his values and what his heart desires.

* * *

Every time Mira withdraws to the bedroom, she fights the voice in her head that compels her to get up and make an effort to not lock herself out. She doesn’t know if anyone sees how much she _tries_ , though lady Adriana seems fond of her. 

The book lands on the nightstand, although it was lovely to get lost in all this warmth and sensuality. Still, she has obligations, and she’s already missing the hunt and the social interactions coming with it. 

The hurt and anger still travel through her veins like poison, weakening her heart. 

What can she do? There’s no other life she has but this, no other home, but this, no other husband but _him._

That part of the castle seems empty, but when she walks downstairs, she hears the laughter and noises coming from the sitting room. Lady Adriana is entertaining again, and everyone seems to have a good time, and her presence always changes the atmosphere around.

It’s so lonely here, and the Hasmal she misses in her heart has never existed, not for her. There was no vast steppe she could explore, no forest she could walk through unattended, just a house with high walls and unhappiness inside, and a cloister that offered her an honest and honorable work for the price of her freedom. 

The sudden emotion hits so hard that Mira needs to cover her mouth not to cry out. _Not here._ She’s supposed to be control herself and stay calm, and—

She runs, as quietly as she can, until she hears the steps on the corridor, so she opens the first door she stumbles upon.

The study. She’s been here before, when Delrin showed her around. There’s a large window with trailing honeysuckle hanging around the frame. 

Mira bursts in tears. She doesn’t know why anymore; whether she misses whatever home she left in Hasmal, or whether she’s hurt because her husband doesn’t want her, whether she wants people to not stare at her as if she was an intruder or whether she wants them to notice her for whom she truly is.

Is there some fault in her, something broken? It can’t be true. Mira _knows_ it’s not true. All her life, she has clung to the knowledge that her father couldn’t love her because he has been incapable of love, not because she has been _unlovable_. That her mother has tried, but has never learned how. That one day, Mira would meet someone who would find all that’s in her heart and love her for it.

The doors open, and Mira is trapped, with nowhere to hide.

It’s Bann Barris himself, standing still, accompanied by his two dogs, Iris and Biscuit. It’s his study, and she just—

“I’m sorry,” she rushes with an explanation. “I didn’t mean to enter. I’m afraid a bit of melancholy fell upon me.”

He reaches to his pocket to take out the silk handkerchief and pass it to her.

“It’s your home,” Bann Barris says. “You can go wherever you please.”

Those words matter, don’t they? 

“I, uhm,” she looks around and her eyes settle on the chess table. “I don’t mean to disturb—”

“You did not, believe me,” he clicks his tongue and the two Mabaris sit. “Do you play chess?”

“Yes.”

“Would you care for a game?” he gestures to the table. 

It’s not as if Mira has anything to do aside of wallowing in sadness.

“I would like that,” she whispers.

They sit down at the table. 

“Mistress Liz should come soon with a pot of fresh tea,” Bann Barris explains. “Would you take white pieces?”

“Sure.”

The turmoil quiets down. The pain still reaches everywhere, but muffled, distant, and Mira finds the ground beneath her feet once again.

* * *

When they finally make it back to the castle, Delrin checks to see if Mira is still with Cassandra, but the Seeker spars with Cullen. He walks to their bedroom, and it’s empty. Mira is probably with his mother downstairs. After a quick wash up and the change of clothing, he finally goes down.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his mother greets him. “Where’s Mira? We’re serving dinner soon.”

“She’s not with you?”

“No, I haven’t seen her the whole day,” the brief worry flashes through her eyes.

“Mom, she’s a grown woman,” he calms her down. “It’s good that she feels comfortable to wander around. I will find her. Don’t worry.”

The words come out so easily, and yet he worries, too. Not in a sense that something could have happened to Mira, but that her wandering around is not out of comfort and settling in. Each day, he picks on her sadness and the pain buzzing beneath. Never in his life has he expected to marry, and then for his bride to seem so unhappy. She’s charming, and he wants to charm her, but even simple interactions become _arduous_ at times.

He finds Mira in the last place he expects, in his father’s study, playing chess with him. The door opens quietly, and Iris and Biscuit raise their heads, but neither his father nor his wife notice him at first, lost in the game. They don’t say a word, sipping tea, and his father keeps rubbing his beard while staring at the board with blazing intensity.

“Hi,” he whispers, almost regretful to disturb the scene before his eyes. Mira glances back at him, and he sees how glassy her eyes appear. 

_Maker’s breath._

“Any success on your little hunt?” Bann Barris asks, unwilling to hide how silly he finds social hunting in the middle of the day.

“I hope you’re hungry for pheasant in upcoming days,” Delrin replies, stepping closer.

“Hi,” Mira stands up to greet him.

He kisses the top of her head, and she somewhat stiffens underneath the gesture, even though they’ve done it before.

“I hate to ruin your game,” his eyes glance at the board, and well, his wife seems a rather capable player, “but I know mother would not be happy if we’re late for dinner.”

“Would you accept the draw, my lady?” His father actually smiles. 

“I would,” she answers, and they shake hands.

His parents both like her, he can tell. It went easy with his mother, but she always has had a lot of love to give; but even his proud, Fereldan father looks at Mira with fondness. It is more that Delrin could have counted on, and all seems to be going well, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he is the one who can’t close the distance between himself and his own wife.

* * *

Mira tries her hardest to not look at lady Gwendolyn, who sits right across from Delrin and who entertains everyone with her tales of the court. The woman is tall and graceful, and charismatic; _all that Mira isn’t,_ and the dull ache in her chest doesn’t go away. 

Her father is a possessive man, and Mira has abhorred jealousy since she could remember, but now the wound in her heart drips blood for a man that’s hers in name only.

It’s not just pride and respect. She would be upset in any circumstances, but there are so many moments that make her _want_ him. 

There is humiliation in it. She knows what she is, _the spoils of war,_ delivered straight to her husband, and yet he refuses even that, all while she _seeks_ him. When they talk and Delrin shows how tender and sweet he can be, how witty his remarks are, and how sensitive he seems, something stirs deep inside of her. 

All those people in the room, however nice they seem, likely think that she is _lucky._ _Lucky_ to have left her father, _lucky_ to have left Hasmal, _lucky_ to have married Delrin and to have joined this family. What do they think of him? Is it pity or just compassion? Nobody looks at her and finds him _lucky_. 

Perhaps lord Kenneth does. He gazes at her with more admiration and affection than her own husband, and all his attention has been on her throughout the whole dinner. Would it be better if she married someone like lord Kenneth? 

It’s wrong to even consider it. 

“May I make the toast, perhaps?” Lord Kenneth asks while Bann Barris gives him a courteous nod. “I would like to thank our wonderful hosts for this lovely time, and for the opportunity to gather in such perilous times.”

They all raise their glasses and take a sip.

“I hope you forgive me, my lady,” lord Kenneth continues, turning towards her. “I would like to raise a toast for you, too. I think of visiting your home country, and how mesmerized I felt, and in times like this I find it especially poignant to remember how much beauty there is all over Thedas. They say that Hasmali women are most beautiful in the world and you surely prove those words right. I hope you find beauty in Ferelden, too, because we are lucky to have you here. As they say in Hasmali,” he looks around the table, “ _na zdrowie_!”

Any flattery she could feel drowns under the sense of embarrassment as her cheeks warm up. Everyone is staring at her, and even lord Kenneth blushes. Mira smiles to hide more than anything else. She’s sure that lord Kenneth has nothing but good intentions, but—

“I will gladly drink to that,” Delrin says, calm as ever, and then he brushes her hand with his fingers, and Mira almost jolts. “How do you toast in Hasmali?”

“ _Na zdrowie,_ ” she whispers.

“ _Na zdrowie!_ ” Delrin repeats, and it’s so odd to hear her language on his lips, but everyone follows his example.

Lord Kenneth beams. 

It’s been a long day.

* * *

Mira has been quiet since they returned to their quarters, and even before. Delrin could see that the _unfortunate_ toast of lord Kenneth has made her uncomfortable. Truthfully, it was odd to witness another man so obviously pine after his wife, even one as innocent as poor Kenneth, and Delrin has never been a jealous type. 

By the time he comes out of the bathroom Mira already has put her book down, but she’s yet to fall sleep. Tomorrow will be even a longer day, given the party planned for the evening. At least this is the last social hurdle for a while. Who knows when he will need to go for a battle? He’d like them not to be strangers when it happens. 

Perhaps they are not entirely strangers, he thinks, slipping underneath the covers. They stand at the threshold, door open. It cannot last forever, it’s impossible. This stage is temporary, but not static, either. 

There are things he yearns for; in marriage, in life, a year from now, a decade from now or more.

“Mira?” He tries. “I’m sorry for today. I was hoping to spend more time with you.”

There’s a surprise on her face that shouldn’t be there.

“Well,” she says. “It must have been nice to spend time with your friends.”

“Well, more like acquaintances. I met lord Kenneth today. The last time I saw Merton and Gwen was at their wedding day, and that was over three years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he sighs, thinking back to the conversation with Merton.

“I assumed you were close. Three years?”

“It’s the Bannorn. Everyone knows everyone. Bann Cromwall is Gwen’s brother, and his estate is not far from Barrfield. He’s a close friend of Calvin. That’s how me and Gwen spent time together as children; but that was before I even became a Templar. Her and Merton live quite far from here, on the other side of the Bannorn, and they spend a lot of time at court, as I’m sure you’ve gathered from all the stories.”

“I thought you all… kept in touch.”

“Not really,” he glances at her. “It must be overwhelming. I realize that there are a lot of people coming through the castle, from the soldiers to the visitors. It should settle soon enough, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” she whispers.

“I would,” he chuckles. 

“It’s a bit overwhelming,” she admits. “I am unsure what to say at times.”

“Me too,” he says, recalling every thought that went through his head earlier on. “You know, I’ve been thinking of marriage a lot and everything I believe in.”

“Yes?” She looks at him with such intensity it burns. 

“I believe in fidelity and I’ve always imagined—“

“ _Have I done something wrong?_ ” The words come out fast, and as quickly as it disappears, he sees something resembling fear in Mira’s eyes.

 _Oh, fuck_. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“I would _never_ disrespect you,” she promises, sitting up abruptly. “I swear.”

“ _Wait,_ ” he pleads. “ _Please,_ I—That’s not what I mean at all. Of course you have done nothing wrong.”

She takes a deep breath, fidgeting with her hands, and suddenly everything feels so _wrong_. All this time Delrin has worried he would scrape some old wound and now he’s sure he’s done it.

“Mira,” he whispers. “I was just awkwardly trying to say that I would always be true to you, just as I vowed to be. I didn’t mean to scare you or to imply that you’ve done anything wrong. _I’m sorry._ ”

Each passing second is loud, as if his heart turned into a war drum. 

“My father,” Mira rasps, “would often get upset at my mother.”

_Fuck._

“Did he… hurt her?”

“Yes.”

 _Fuck_. For once he tries to talk openly and encounters a well of pain.

“I’m so sorry, Mira.”

Her breathing is loud, too. 

He gets out of the bed and takes a few careful steps to kneel on the floor by her side.

“I’m truly sorry,” he says, trying to find some path forward. “I know those are just words, but I _swear_ to you, on everything I am, with _no_ reservations, that you’re always safe here, with me. _Always_ , no matter what happens.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Delrin,” she sighs, finally meeting his eyes. “You just caught me by surprise, and lord Kenneth—“

“If you think I’m upset at lord Kenneth’s words,” he shakes his head. “Of course I’m not, Mira. And it doesn’t matter that you do, I would never hurt you. It should be obvious. I hope it would be if we knew each other better. You have my protection, you have the protection of my family, and you have the protection of the law, too.”

“So what were you saying?” Her voice shakes, the nervous redness appears on her cheeks, but at least she’s looking at him openly.

“I believe in the vows I gave you. It’s obvious to me I will keep them. That’s all.”

It hits him that he says it while kneeling. The whole talk took such a different turn from what he intended. 

“It’s obvious to me I will keep them, too,” she says, and he hasn’t doubted her.

Delrin wanted to assure her more than to seek assurances himself.

She raises her hand and touches his arm, a gesture of trust and affection, or so he hopes. He takes her hand in his, lifts it to his mouth and kisses it softly.

The air is heavy, like after the storm. What words can he give her now, when nothing feels adequate? What should be the next step after this?

“I’m a little tired,” Mira deflects.

“Of course,” he swallows a painful lump. “Do you need anything? A glass of water?”

“No. Can you just blow out the candles?”

“Sure.”

When he lies next to her, he wonders.

Are they closer, or a world apart? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :) Things will get better
> 
> sejmik - a meeting of local Hasmali nobles in power
> 
> bielik - a white-tailed eagle
> 
> na zdrowie! - to health! - a Hasmali toast.


	7. High Stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Delrin attend the banquet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at the beginning.
> 
> Content warning: misogyny, verbal insults, inebriation

Delrin whispers that she’s beautiful as he slowly covers her neck in kisses, trailing down and down. He traces his tongue past her collarbone, and Mira moans, waiting. His stubble itches her skin, but doesn’t bother her. Actually, it’s the most wonderful sensation. She feels his fingers between her thighs, teasing her, touching her, pleasing her, and when his lips finally find her breasts to kiss, and lick, and suck, Mira drowns in pleasure. He’s so warm, and he smells so good—-

The dream changes into reality, and the first thing Mira registers is the heat of a body next to her. Confused, she blinks, still hazed from sleep. She opens her eyes and finds her lips on Delrin’s neck. He’s so close, his facial hair brushes against her forehead. Her body is flushed with his, and _oh Maker_ , his erection presses against her thigh.

He groans, and her heart almost stops, wondering if he’s awake. He shifts his hips away, but she feels him rubbing against her and the mere thought makes her ache of yearning.

Before she has a chance to react, to hide, _to do something_ , his dreamy green eyes lock on hers, and Mira’s blush burns her body.

Delrin is in fact _so near_ that his breath reaches her. It would be so easy to close her eyes and to move just a bit and kiss him. 

“Hi,” she whispers, voice trembling.

“Hi,” he says.

It’s the closest Mira’s ever been with anyone, but it’s their bed and he’s her _husband_ , and he said all those things about being true to her last night and—

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I really—I was asleep, and I woke up—“

“—It’s fine,” she assures him. 

He can’t really find her that naïve, can he?

“It just happens, I don’t want you to think—“

“ _—We’re married_ ,” she blurts out without thinking, and then it’s as if she fell into an ice-cold lake, all the desire bubbling in her veins freezing at once. “I don’t think, uhm, anything.”

It’s a lie, but what else she can say, when he clearly takes no interest in her that way. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he adds, and that borders on an insult.

“Believe me,” she turns around. “I _quite_ understand. I will wash up and dress first, if you don’t mind.”

She can’t bear to look at Delrin as he mumbles the words of agreement.

* * *

The cloud of irritation does not leave Delrin. Mira barely looks at him at breakfast, and he can’t shake down the feeling of embarrassment and confusion. Sweet Andraste, he woke up with her in his arms, practically rubbing his cock against her thigh. She blushed with unmatched intensity and _fuck_ ; _he apologized for his boner._ That might by far the most absurd situation he’s ever experienced, and he’s not a man to easily get uncomfortable.

Lord Kenneth is all over Mira once again, and this time it bothers Delrin, even though Maker forgive him, the boy is hardly inappropriate. Still, when they go to the fighting grounds later on to observe the training and the sparring matches, Delrin entertains the pathetic fantasy of how he could defeat lord Kenneth with little effort. 

The bitter tastes spread around his mouth. Of course it would be easy. The man is not a soldier. What’s wrong with him today?

He will spar with Bull instead, to entertain the guests, to show them that the soldiers are worthy to invest in times of unavoidable war. It has always been like that, but today it feels particularly deplorable.

“What’s wrong?” Bull asks the second Delrin steps foot at the armory to put the plate armor over his gambeson. “You’re brooding.”

“Nothing,” he says, as if he could lie to a former Ben-Hassrath. 

As if he could lie to his closest friend. Bull doesn’t push, he only raises his eyebrow in a gesture of a man who has seen everything. 

“Our performance is the _apéritif_ for tonight’s celebration.”

“It cannot come as a surprise,” his friend points out. “You’ve been fighting half of your life, and damn me, I’m a mercenary Tal-Vashoth. 

“It’s not a surprise,” he scoffs, picking up his breastplate. “Doesn’t make it less disgusting.”

“Is that all that you feel?”

Something snaps inside, and Delrin sighs, giving Bull a vague overview of last night and this morning in several short sentences. He prefers to keep some things private, but damn it, he can’t hold it all in anymore.

“ _Hmm_ ,” Bull muses. “Have you ever considered that your wife might want you?”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” he breathes. “Every time I attempt any flirtation, it all goes to void and something happens. It’s been rough for Mira. She’s in a new place, and she gets shy and tense, and not everyone treats her the right way.”

“I heard of the soldiers.”

“That’s just one example,” he growls. “I don’t wish to add any pressure but now I’ve put myself in a corner and am unsure how to dig myself out of it. I always feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“Why don’t you just talk with her openly about what you both expect?”

Delrin sits down, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Have you ever been with someone when you weren’t sure if any of that was what they wanted? Ever shared a bed with someone who didn’t want to be there?”

“No,” Bull admits, looking at him with acute seriousness. 

“She’s _my wife_. There’s no one she knows here, and nothing familiar she recognizes, and everyone knows that she’s Surma’s daughter. You were there, you saw how he handed her to me. If I make a move, or if I tell her what I wish for our future, how can she feel she can refuse me? She is not well-versed in our customs and law. How can I make sure she understands? I am not a man like this, I don’t want to be a man like this. You can’t fault me for hoping my wife would freely choose me.”

“I don’t, kid. All I am saying is that you get so tangled up in how respectful you want to appear, you don’t even think she’s capable of having an opinion, like she’s a thing, not a person.”

It stings, and Delrin can feel his face getting warmer.

“I don’t think she’s had much choice throughout her life. I know she didn’t choose this, _or me._ ”

“Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean you know how she feels and what she wants until you ask.”

“She’s so polite— _Sweet Andraste_ , we really don’t have time now.”

“How about we see each other tomorrow before breakfast? Barris, just because you’ve had more choice and you have more power than Mira, doesn’t mean you have no right to your feelings regarding the circumstances of your marriage. We could politely ask Mistress Karla for freshly baked sweet buns and a pot of tea and talk about it like adults.”

“Fine,” Delrin agrees. “Thank you, I need that. Also, I don’t know how you always manage to convince Mistress Karla to hand you food from the kitchen.”

“Easily, kid. I am naturally charming, and unlike you, I’m not hopeless in asking for sweet buns.”

The short laughter escapes Delrin, and with that, some tension. “Let’s see how that natural charm works during the duel.”

“Really, Barris? Some would call it _‘taunting the bull’_. 

“Remind me,” he picks up his shield, “how did we become friends?”

Bull grins.

* * *

Delrin is an incredible fighter. Mira has no skills herself, but she has seen so many warriors throughout the years. He’s agile and fast, and never reckless, especially when fighting a larger opponent.

“Are you admiring his technique, or _something else_?” Cassandra inquires, sitting by her side.

“He’s my husband,” Mira quips. “I get to admire whatever I want.”

The warrior laughs, but second those words leave Mira’s mouth, only the vast sadness remains. 

Is Delrin truly her husband? They said the words of their vows, but they haven’t consummated them, and while she knows there are marriages like that, she is not sure if that is his preference, or the simple fact that he doesn’t desire her, be it because who she is as the enemy’s daughter or simply because he finds something in her that disappoints him.

“Mira?” Cassandra whispers. “What’s wrong?”

It would be best to stay quiet, Mira knows that, but there is nobody else she can talk to. The next closest person she has is Delrin’s mother, and she can’t go to lady Adriana and complain that her son doesn’t take his wife to bed. The mere thought is horrendous.

“I think,” she loathes that her voice cracks and she can’t reign in her own hurt, “that my company displeases him.”

“Really? He always speaks so warmly about you.”

Of course he does. Delrin does nothing wrong, and she shouldn’t be ungrateful when he treats her with respect, but it is hard to quiet down a heart that yearns for more. It’s not freedom from affection that she has dreamed of. 

“It’s a difficult situation for everyone involved,” Mira says with as much diplomacy as she can muster.

“I am sorry,” the woman replies. “I can’t imagine how it is.”

“He is kind to me. That’s more than the reality of many marriages.”

Including that of her parents. If there has been any love between them, it has distorted and corrupted itself over the years, and it has brought wounds and pain. Polite and respectful indifference is a better fate. 

“Do _you_ enjoy his company?” Cassandra asks, and it’s too much, and yet in some resigned state Mira welcomes the question.

There’s no pretense behind Seeker’s words, and unless Mira is horribly mistaken, no hidden agenda, either. She is honest, that’s all. 

“I do,” Mira confesses. “I don’t know if it’s smart to feel this way.”

“He is your husband. I am pretty sure you have the right to feel however you want.”

“We exchanged the vows, _and_ —,” the voice stops in her throat, because she can’t reveal more. “You’d think it would get easier, or that I would be braver. I was barely sixteen when I entered the cloister. I’m not very experienced in those matters, and I’m not certain the romance novels did much to prepare. I thought I would never marry.”

“Did you want to?”

“My father had a trusted man under his command. There was a talk he might have asked for my hand. I have never begged more for anything than to go to the Chantry. Aside from that, I suppose deep down I’ve wanted a novel-like true love. You must find it a folly.”

“I’ve read the same novels,” Cassandra snorts. “I loved once, and he loved me back. Between duty, and who we were, it couldn’t last, but I can tell you that love is a remarkable thing. I don’t find it a folly. It’s easy to ridicule the romance novels, but love is not a folly, Mira. I lack tact, but that doesn’t mean I lack other emotions.”

Mira smiles. “Between and you and me, tact is overvalued. Thank you for telling me this, Cassandra. What happened to your beloved, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He died at the beginning of this war. A horrible waste, truly. A personal one to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We weren’t together anymore, but the wound remains. Thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”

“You’re a good friend, Cassandra,” Mira dares and Seeker smiles in return.

“I am glad you’re here, and that we’ve met.”

Perhaps there’s nothing broken inside of her, and perhaps she can at least find friendship here.

“Two strangers on Fereldan soil?” Mira teases.

“Speaking of Fereldans,” Cassandra remarks. “Lord Kenneth is clearly ready to come over. Say a word and I will tackle him for you.”

“He’s harmless!” Mira laughs. 

“Thank the Maker. It would be like tackling a puppy, and besides, he’s already pledged support to the Inquisition. You don’t know Leliana, but she might murder me if anything bad befalls lord Kenneth.”

“At least he’s kind, and full of good intentions.”

“Would you allow me to join you, my ladies?” Lord Kenneth grins. “Lady Cassandra—“

“Seeker suffices, lord Kenneth.”

“Naturally, Seeker. Today I woke up and reminded myself about this wonderful passage from brother Genitivi’s writings about Nevarra, perhaps you remember—“

Mira covers her smile as she catches Cassandra’s exhausted glance.

It’s good to have someone that understands.

* * *

Delrin leaves the fighting arena and removes his helmet, letting the cool air hit his sweaty forehead. He appreciates a good spar, and Bull made him work for it, but the irritation comes back the second when he sees lord Kenneth eagerly entertaining Mira _again_.

It’s beneath him, and he can only blame himself. It’s not about what lord Kenneth does, it’s about the fact that he wishes to be the one to make her laugh, and each day brings some failure. 

Would she be happier if she married someone like Kenneth? Delrin does not lack confidence, but somehow it all seems to have gone away as he stands, breathing heavy and wondering how quickly would Kenneth send Mira an offer of marriage to if he was to die in a battle during the next month. 

The thought is ugly and irrational, and it _prickles_. Bull was right, he is brooding, and he has no right to. 

“Congratulations,” Mira says before she disappears to ready herself for the evening in the company of his mother.

“You are an excellent swordman, Captain,” lord Kenneth offers later on with no bitterness, even though Delrin is sure the man spends half of his day fantasizing about Mira.

Lord Kenneth, whatever his little _infatuation_ might be, is better than most.

“Thank you, my lord. Your support to the Inquisition is invaluable—“

“Whatever I can do to help. I am a man of peace, but sometimes life forces us into the most peculiar circumstances, and the ability to meet everyone here has settled a lot of my worries. You have my word that I will donate the promised funds and reach out to master Dennet regarding the cavalry horses.”

“That is very generous,” Delrin says, and he means it.

“Speak nothing of it. Your soldiers carry the everyday burdens, and so do you.”

“Can I ask you a favor, my lord?”

“Of course, Captain. Please, if you can call me Kenneth.”

“Delrin.”

They shake hands.

“What can I do for you?”

“Have you heard of Hasmali _‘death poetry’_?”

“Certainly. It’s a Hasmali literary movement when the poets so to say _bury_ the social messages between the lines, toying with the restrictions of the regime.”

Delrin grunts, because it seems that there’s nothing Kenneth hasn’t heard of regarding Hasmal, but then he scolds himself. The boy is eager, and helpful, and honorable, even if he would love to bed Mira, and Delrin is sure he would. 

“Would you know how I could get my hands on a few tomes?”

“I have several tomes in translation myself, but I am guessing you’re looking for the originals in Hasmali as a gift? I have a friend who dabbles in book trade, and I have a few contacts in Hasmal, although I am sure the Inquisition does, too. I would love to make an inquiry on your behalf. I presume it’s for lady Mira?”

“Yes,” he answers shortly, thinking that her birthday is coming up and that it would be a meaningful addition to any traditional gift.

“It would be my pleasure,” the man assures him, and Delrin thanks him profusely.

* * *

Mira prepares for the evening in the boudoir of lady Adriana, adjacent to the bedroom the woman shares with Bann Barris. They seem to be a truly loving couple, and Mira squashes the thoughts of what her own future might look like. She needs a break from all that thinking and grasping onto the uncertainty.

There has never been an opportunity to wear gowns. When she joined the cloister, she was a practically still a child, and she had never attended parties, not like this. Aside from her wedding gown, this is the second evening outfit she is to ever wear. Her father has provided her with the minimum. It could hardly pass for a dowry, but the gown she is to put on tonight is stunning, dark blue and embroidered in a golden thread wheat motifs and finished with a panel of golden buttons in the front.

“The gown is lovely, and you look beautiful,” lady Adriana says. “My son is lucky.”

It is such a little remark, but something warm spreads through her veins.

“Delrin said that blue is his favorite color,” Mira reveals, a little embarrassed, but lady Adriana doesn’t judge her, and she doesn’t pry, either.

It’s easy to like her, and it’s easy to recognize how she seeks to make Mira feel welcome, and yet there’s no falsehood or charade there. Delrin’s mother is affectionate and open. Lady Adriana smiles, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. 

Mira promises herself to let go of any expectations, but she can’t trample the flutters in her stomach as she hears the knock on the door. The morning was more than awkward, but she still remembers Delrin’s warmth and scent and the way his breath felt on her lips.

He walks in, clad in a gambeson he wore for their wedding, and some emotions of the day come back to her. How _different_ she had thought those first days would be.

She silently pleads for him not to ignore her as his eyes travel from her face to her body and up again.

“I see you’re ready,” he says softly, smiling a little.

“I see you’re wearing a part of the wedding outfit,” she replies, smiling back. 

“I do. I’m afraid I do not own a lot of formal wear, to be frank.”

“I was in the cloister, Delrin,” she reminds me. “This is the only evening gown I’ve ever had.”

 _Please,_ Mira thinks, hoping he would pay her a compliment. 

“Forgive me,” he sighs. “I realize how neglectful I’ve been, but I promise that once it settles, I will make sure to take you shopping so that you have everything you need. I haven’t even inquired—“

She looks down, hiding the glimpse of pain. Is it the dress he doesn’t approve of, or her? Should she tell him she has everything she needs or just welcome his suggestion?

“ _Delrin!_ ” lady Adriana calls from her bedroom. “Can you come here for and help me with the necklace?”

“It will be just a moment,” he whispers, brushing on the skin of her arm in an apologetic gesture. 

“Of course,” Mira says.

He looks at her, but he doesn’t notice. _None of it_.

* * *

“You called for me?” Delrin asks, glancing at his mother, who is narrowing her eyes and playing with her emerald necklace.

“ _What in the void are you doing?_ ” She whispers to him, gesturing to shut the door. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’m your mother and I promised you not to meddle, but I can’t in good conscience stand here and listen to that conversation. I’ve seen how you look at Mira, so can you please tell me why do you torture this poor girl and not even tell she looks pretty when she’s obviously seeking your approval?”

The heat erupts on his face up to his ears. He thinks of this morning and how he woke up practically grinding against Mira, and how she certainly noticed, and tensed right in his arms, and— _Sweet Andraste_ , he is no longer certain of anything and no longer sure what is he doing.

He should have an answer ready, but he just stands there, a grown married man, told off by his mother. 

“I know it’s a tricky situation for both of you, but I thought things were going well. Do you like her?” she frowns. “Because I could swear you do.”

“I do,” he admits, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Then go and stop behaving like you’re socially inept, because we both know it’s not true. You know how to be courteous and charming. _Act like it_. I shouldn’t be telling you that.”

“Yes, mom,” he accepts his utter defeat.

“Good,” his mother sighs. “Try having fun tonight, all right?”

“Anything else?” he raises his eyebrow. 

“No,” she answers, completely unashamed. “You can go now.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“You better.”

When he walks out of the bedroom, Mira is standing by the chaise. That fashion style must be popular In Hasmal, because just like the wedding gown she wore, it bares her shoulders and cleavage. She’s delightful, and by all accounts he has the right to notice. He should notice it and he should say it, but the thought of mis-stepping and crossing some tender line holds him back so often. Could it really be so simple?

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he dares, watching her freeze at the compliment.

“ _Really?_ ” She asks, as if to verify the sincerity of his words, and Delrin feels the nudging around his chest that his mother could be right. 

“ _Yes,_ ” he whispers, and the color runs to her cheeks, making her face even lovelier. “You are… _breathtaking_.”

That’s too much, isn’t it? But Mira lights up nonetheless with that exquisite bright smile that he doesn’t deserve. 

“Thank you. You look very handsome, too,” she simply says in response. 

Maker, he has never thought of himself as a fool, but perhaps he is one, after all.

“I’m glad you think so,” he tries testing the boundaries, but nothing indicates his attempts as unwelcome.

When they leave the room, his mother gloats, smirking in victory.

* * *

_Breathtaking._

The compliment echoes in her mind when they enter the parlor, and Delrin does not remove his hand from her back. 

Is there recklessness in opening herself up over and over again? There must be, but they are married, and Mira has promised him everything she is, so how could she not respond each time he draws closer? It’s been mere days since the wedding, and they both stumble in the dark, so whenever he reaches for her, she wants to show him she welcomes his attention.

She worries about the gaffes she might commit, more than during the wedding celebration. Back then, she was a bride, and nobody viewed her as more. She could hide behind her dress and her veil, and even her foreignness, but tonight she is just a wife. Now everyone can look at her more closely and judge how she performs her duties.

“I am nervous,” she whispers to her husband, because he has duties, too, and she’s one of them. 

Delrin takes his hand away, and she almost regrets speaking up, but then she feels his fingers finding hers, and suddenly he’s holding her in a gentle grip. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispers back.

It doesn’t soothe her nerves, but his touch is warm, and Mira smiles. 

“This is not Orlais,” he adds, making her giggle. “Fereldan banquets are less… structured. There’s no game, little dancing, and our bards are not assassins.”

“What is a chance of a duel on top of a dining room table?”

“Is this a real example?” He glances at her, lips curling. “That’s a tempting image, although my mother would personally slay anyone who’d set a foot on the table. I almost wish to see that.”

“I can tell how skilled you are, by the way, after watching you spar today.”

Is it her imagination or is he flattered?

“Thank you. I would never say that I love fighting, and today was more of a show, but I work hard on my skills and I take pride in them, even though the reality of the battle is nothing like sparring.”

“I know,” she tells him, and she means it. “I’ve tended to many wounds, and I know how deep the blade can cut, and how easily the flesh bleeds. There’s nothing wrong in pride at the skills you’ve gained by your own blood and sweat, though.”

“I agree,” he squeezes her hand. “I am guessing you could easily tend any wounds if there was a tabletop duel to ensue?”

“It would stain my dress,” she jokes. “I’d rather not to.”

“I am sure it will be a properly boring evening,” he assures her, “but the company is charming.”

Mira’s heart beats a bit faster when he leads her to the dining room.

* * *

The evening starts innocuously. More so, it is rather lovely, and Delrin very much enjoys the conversation with Mira, and the attention she’s giving him. Sweet Andraste, he is unsure what to do at times, but she seems to be open to any of his hesitant attempts to flirt, and her body leans towards him, and whenever he sees her laugh because of something he says, a warm feeling spreads inside of him.

It’s an odd sensation when the desire mingles with duty and the promise already given. Every moment of them discovering each other happens like this. The stakes are higher, and there are things they will never experience. Perhaps at times it makes him sad, especially when he encounters difficulties he has never faced before, but there’s intense tenderness in his heart as well. 

Mira is so young, and to think that not so long ago she lived halfway around the world in some small cloister near the Tevene border, and now she’s _here_ , in the middle of Ferelden, gracing him with a smile.

There is an obligation and a responsibility he has towards her, and it’s precious, even more so because she has chosen none of it, but it hurts, too. _She has chosen none of it_. Isn’t that what anybody wants in marriage, in the most basic sense? To be chosen, not by the necessity, but freely?

Then her fingers brush on his arms. She’s blushing a lot, but it almost seems as if she’s getting nearer. He can see how brightly her eyes shine from up close, and that her lips are carved out like a piece of art. Maker help him; he remembers how sweet she tasted when he kissed her after they had cut the cake, and how her tongue brushed on his. The desire hums in his veins, but he can’t rid himself of the shame of this morning, and the confusion at his emotions.

They can’t remain like this forever, and they won’t. Deep inside, Delrin wonders if he doesn’t ask questions because he’s afraid that some things he hopes for will never happen. Her father shipped her off with no care, and Delrin is sure that some men would try to assert whatever right they perceive to have, but he’d never do that, and that’s not what he wants.

Mira has been through so much, and yet he yearns for her to look at him and care, and _choose him_ for whom he is. He’s greedy. Odd, because he has never thought of himself as such. Certainly not when he made an offer of marriage, but he supposes he is greedy now. 

Greedy and vulnerable, and more scared he thought he would be. 

“ _Ugh_ ,” he sighs, turning his head at the sound of a loud commotion coming from another side of the room. “Uncle Vernon is going to grace the crowd with the story of how he cut off his friend’s leg when they fought the Orlesians in 9:2.”

“Would it surprise you if I told you I cut off a man’s leg, too? It’s a much fresher memory, though.”

“You’ve never told me how did you start working at the infirmary.”

“When I arrived at the cloister I was young, and shy, and frankly, probably not what they had expected of me. Reverend Mother told me later on that she had anticipated someone more confident, a trouble-maker, and here I was, barely sixteen and unsure what to do with myself, and they were unsure what to do with me, too. There was a routine everyone had to follow, but I was never meant to take the vows. They just let me be, read the books and walk around. It took me few days to find the infirmary. You know, you cross the threshold of a place like this and it’s impossible to stand still. There was an old sister there who ordered me to do many things at once the second I came over, and I had to change the dressing and then to clean the patient. It was disgusting, and rough, and I might have vomited twice that day just from the smell alone. It felt too difficult, but it also felt honest, and I was good at it. I came the next day, and the next one. It’s not a grateful job. I’m sure you know people in pain can be challenging, but it matters to make it more bearable for them. I wish I had a better story, though.”

“Better than stepping up and doing an honest work?”

“You didn’t choose the Order, did you? I asked you once why you did, but I’m sure I was wrong.”

“I did not. A common path for someone like me. I don’t consider myself a Templar anymore, and you know of the corruption of the Order, I am sure, but the Order gave me a lot of skills I posses now, and it’s hard to discount something that’s been a part of my life for so long, even when I harbor many disagreements.”

“I… _sympathize_ with that, believe me.”

He believes her. It’s an unexpected commonality of their experience. She might have never been a solder, but he finds they share more than he would assume. 

“It seems Commander Rutherford might need me,” Delrin says, catching Cullen’s hand signal. “Forgive me, but I believe the duty calls.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll try to make it as quick as possible.”

* * *

Mira can’t tell for sure if it was the glass of wine caused the buzzing in her head or all the time she spent with Delrin, and how she touched him, and how he smiled at her. Now she feels warm, and even the stares don’t bother her nearly as much. Tonight, in her gown, she couldn’t be looking more Hasmali, and some will gawk at her as if she was a war trophy. She smiles, she nods, she exchanges the meaningless remarks, and she distracts herself to pass the time until lady Gwendolyn bumps into her.

“I’m sorry,” Mira apologizes as lady Gwendolyn turns her head to hide her red eyes.

Mira knows that look.

“Do you need anything, my lady?” She asks.

“No,” lady Gwendolyn says. “I am fine, believe me.”

She knows better than to pry, and it’s not her business. 

“Funny how it is,” lady Gwendolyn seethes. “I married for love, and now I can’t stand the company of my own husband and _you_? They sold you like a cow and somehow you ended up with a man more noble than he ought to be.”

It’s an outright insult, and there’s no point in responding. Perhaps the open hostility is easier to bear than the one hidden underneath the pleasantries. 

“He could have done so much better, you know? Any Fereldan woman would be glad to have him, and you’re just—,” the woman sighs. “ _He deserves better._ Be nice to him, at least.”

The hurt spreads, and it touches deep, but Mira watches lady Gwen covering the tears flowing down her cheeks. Something about that image reminds her of her mother, and instead of being angry she just feels empty instead. 

“I hope you feel better,” Mira states, and she means it, and yet she knows she wields her politeness as a weapon, too. 

It turns to pity, she supposes, and lady Gwendolyn walks away.

* * *

As usual on the occasions like this, the duty supersedes the pleasure, unfortunately. The goal of a banquet is for the Inquisition to gain more allies and raise funds. From Delrin’s perspective, everything seems to be going well, even though his thoughts are with Mira. 

Soon enough, and he should return to her. Most of the guests are back in the main parlor, but Delrin waits for lord Merton to finish one of his hunting tales before he can excuse himself. The man is visibly drunk anyway, not noticing that Delrin is the only person listening to the story he already knows. The only other people in the room are lord Kenneth and Bull, discussing the particulars of Orlesian culture. 

“Merton,” Delrin nudges. “Perhaps I should call for Gwen and we could escort you to the bedroom.”

“ _Gwen_ ,” the man waves his hand, grasping onto his shoulder. “Gwen is a… cold fish. I made one mistake and she can’t look at me. I am telling you, Barris, marriage is a sham.”

He really doesn’t need to listen to it.

“Merton. You’ve had quite the few tonight. You should sleep it off.”

“You don’t get it, do you? Perhaps you never will. Lucky you. I’ve heard that Hasmali keep their horses free and their women on a short leash, not like us here.”

“ _Merton,_ ” Delrin cautions, fighting his rising anger.

“Tell me, my friend,” the man leans closer, so his sour alcohol breath reaches Delrin’s nostrils. “I’ve never sampled a Hasmali woman, but I’ve heard they never say ‘ _no’_ , and your little thing—“

Delrin grabs lord Merton by the collar and pulls him up. Kenneth and Bull immediately stand up, alarmed.

“ _I warn you_ ,” Delrin measures every word as Merton lifts up his hands in a defensive gesture, “to not say a fucking word about my wife.”

“Sensitive, huh?” Merton slurs. “You think I’m the only one? Kenneth here practically fucks her with his eyes each time he glances at her, but sure, I am the bad guy—“

“Captain Barris, I assure you, I would never—”

“ _No need_ , Kenneth,” Delrin cuts him off.

“You think you’re so perfect, Barris,” Merton mocks. “So above it all. Gwen could crawl into your bed and you’d not touch her, would you? You’re better, she says. Better than all of us. Have you even fucked your bitch or don’t you have the balls to do that? I bet you haven’t, maybe she’d like a real man—”

He slams Merton into the wall, enough for it to hurt without harming. 

_Fuck._

“ _Barris,_ ” Bull warns. “He’s piss drunk. A piss drunk piece of of shit.”

“Can you watch him?” He asks. “I’m going to get Calvin and Barry Cromwall. I’d rather not stay with him alone. Frankly, I might break his fucking face if I do.”

Merton laughs. 

“We will handle that, don’t worry,” Kenneth answers with utmost seriousness, while Bull only rolls his eyes and nods to him. 

Making a scene would do no good, especially if anyone would overhear Merton’s comments about Mira. The thought that she could hear them burns his stomach. What has it been, several days, and she has already met with so much disgusting attitude? _No._ This needs to be handled discreetly, for everyone’s sake.

He almost jumps up when he feels the hand on his arm, only to turn around and see his sweet rosy-cheeked wife, smiling to him.

* * *

Even the words of lady Gwendolyn can’t ruin the anticipation building in Mira’s heart. Delrin should be here any second, and then they can go back to spending time together, just the two of them. Somehow she feels bold tonight, be it the gown she’s wearing or the wine giving her courage, or that Delrin held her hand earlier for so long, or maybe how attractive he looks in his gambeson and how soft his lips are. 

It shouldn’t be all on him, anyway. Mira might be shy at times, but she is not cold, and she has so much passion to give. Finally, she spots his tall silhouette walking through the room, and she rushes to catch up with him, grasping onto his arm. 

His muscles tighten underneath her touch. Delrin turns his head, and his eyes soften at the sight of her.

He’s her husband. It’s all right to be daring.

She’s so close, she could hide her face into his chest.

“ _Mira_ ,” he whispers. 

Mira smiles. Is it too much to smile now?

“Would you like to,” she breathes, and her heart almost escapes from her chest, “go _somewhere private_?”

“I can’t,” he speaks quickly as her heart turns small again, clenching in a painful surprise. “Something came up, and… don’t wait for me. _I’m sorry._ ”

Back to being invisible; she barely moves when he places a quick kiss on her forehead and walks away. Her skin burns in shame. She couldn’t have made her intentions clearer, and he didn’t give her even a second of his time. 

_Why_? She prides herself in her caution, so why does she allow herself to get carried away only to be left hanging? Whatever attention he occasionally bestows on her is that of a dutiful soldier, not a doting lover. If there is someone he wants, it is not her.

“If it’s all right, I will retire for the night,” she says to lady Adriana.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the woman replies. “I hope you had a nice time tonight.”

 _Yes_ , and that is why the pain travels down her veins, reaching everywhere.

Mira promises herself not to cry, but tonight their bedroom seems especially cold and her hands tremble when she’s struggling to get out of her gown. 

_Breathtaking._ That is what he said, and sometimes Delrin looks at her and takes her breath away, too. Has it all been merely her imagination? It’s foolish to try so hard, it’s foolish to want someone who has received her on a silver platter and wants none of it.

Is it the way he is or is it the way she is? He flirts sometimes, and then he pulls away, and she is trapped in the cage of uncertainty, hopeful one minute and crushed another. That is no way to live, and yet what other choice she has?

She can complain, or challenge him, but then what? He’d roll on top of her and take her out of obligation, eyes closed, thinking of someone else? How can she ask? What would she say to him? Plead that she’s lovable if he only tries? 

Gwen’s words come back with fury. 

_Delrin deserves better_. Does he thinks so, too? 

What if he truly waits for the treaty to fail? What if that is the reason he never touches her? Not his preferences, not any fault he finds in her. What if he thinks of his future, and a family he could have if he manages through it all? He could try sending her away, she supposes, and then she’d— 

_She would die_. 

Would any of those people lie to her? Cassandra wouldn’t lie, but Mira wonders if she’s naïve in all this. Everyone here treats her well, and lady Adriana is so kind, and caring, and Delrin swore to be true. He swore so many things to her, and yet he never lets her too close. 

She has a roof over her head, and food in her stomach, and she lacks nothing, but now not only the hurt grows, but so do worry and fear of tomorrow. 

What can Mira expect here, in this country, in this home, in this bed, in this marriage?

The tears start flowing when she settles herself in bed. Even Dot tilts her head in concern and comes over to nuzzle her, and Mira pets her once or twice. If Delrin walks in right now, he will see her like this, but she can’t conceal everything she feels, so she cries, and cries, and cries, burying her face in a pillow until she’s so tired that she falls asleep.

* * *

Maker preserve him, all Delrin wants is to be fucking done with it. Both Calvin and Bann Cromwall rush back with him to the room, where they find Bull calming down lord Merton. 

“He attacked me,” lord Kenneth announces with much irritation in his voice. “Thankfully, the Iron Bull reacted quickly.”

“My pleasure, kid.”

“ _Maker’s bollocks_ ,” Bann Cromwall curses. “What the fuck is wrong with you, son?”

“ _Barry_?” Merton raises up his eyebrows. “You should better watch your whorish sister flirting all around.”

“You better shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!” Barry Cromwall takes a swing at the man and both Delrin and Calvin jump up to stop him.

Bann Cromwell, just like Gwen, has always had a temper, even though he’s usually reasonable.

“Barry,” it takes Calvin one second to asses the situation. “ _Barry._ You will deal with this tomorrow. We got to get him to bed.”

“We’re not sending him to the bedroom he shares with Gwennie, that’s for sure,” Bann Cromwall announces. 

“Of course not,” Calvin encourages his friend. “We’ll send him to one of the small room in a different wing and stand the guards by the door until the morning.”

“You’ve all lost your minds,” Merton protests. “Wait until my mother hears of it!”

“I will write her myself,” Barry promises, unamused. “Ser Bull? I am afraid we’ll require your help.”

“Sure.”

Merton stops thrashing around when they all walk him to the empty bedroom, choosing the path through the basements to avoid any guests and potential gossip. Nobody needs this tonight, and when Delrin sees the determination on Bann Cromwall’s face, he knows that Merton won’t be easily forgiven, if at all. 

Merton pisses himself somewhere along the way, and Delrin does not hide his disgust. Being in the Order has taught him a fair share about drunken shenanigans, but there’s a difference between that and Merton’s behavior. Alcohol lowers inhibitions, but it doesn’t magically change someone’s thoughts.

Every filthy thing Merton said about Mira rings in his ears once again, and then he thinks of Gwen and how their marriage must have been for a while now. 

Kenneth offers to inform Gwen in a discreet manner, and Delrin has to admit his presence soothes everyone. She comes over, escorted by lord Kenneth, and doesn’t even hide her tears when Barry pulls her into a solid bear hug.

“Gwennie,” he murmurs. “I could tell something was wrong. Don’t you worry about a thing tomorrow. You’ll come home with us, and then we shall see.”

They leave the siblings together, and lord Kenneth retrieves to his bedroom as well, until only Calvin, Delrin and Bull remain.

“Barry shared some gossip about Merton with me,” Calvin says. “I am afraid now not only the gossip proves true, but it might be worse than we feared. I will talk with father and mother. What spurred this?”

“He had… _opinions_ about my wife,” Delrin locks eyes with his older brother. “Tell father I want him out first thing in the morning, before breakfast. I don’t know if Barry will claim him or not, and I do not care, but I don’t want him near, and if he even looks at Mira, I might not stop myself.”

“You know father,” Calvin assures him. “Merton will be gone before we get up. Poor Gwen. I know Barry and his wife worried, and to see _this_ —How bad was it?”

“I’d rather not repeat the words, and I would not trust Merton near anyone in the castle, servants included.”

“Two guards at the door, Delrin. Don’t worry. How’s Mira?”

“She doesn’t know, and I don’t wish to add to her struggles.”

“I understand,” Calvin replies, “Delrin, go to bed, and I will handle the rest, all right? Thank you, Bull. We can always count on you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Bull mutters.

Delrin can’t help but to bury his face in his hands the second Calvin walks away.

“You’re all right, kid?” Bull asks.

“ _No_ ,” Delrin admits. “Did you hear what Merton said?”

“Not the beginning, but I’ve heard enough. The guy is a fucking creep.”

“I know. I just can’t shake the feeling that all around there’s some harm awaiting Mira, or that I am going to bring her pain, and you know what? At the end of the day, it often—“

“ _Barris_ ,” Bull pats him on the shoulder and then pulls him for a hug. “It’s not like that, and you need to stop, all right? Some people are bigots, some are disgusting. If you think that this gives you a reason to not talk to your wife, you’re wrong. If you feel that there is harm hiding behind every sentence you might utter, you are wrong too, and I damn hope you listen. You two looked pretty cozy tonight.”

“It was lovely before,” he admits. 

“Let’s still see each other early morning tomorrow. You can make sure that Lord Piece-of-Shit leaves, and we can sit down and talk openly. You can’t hide all your feelings and thoughts.”

“ _All right_ ,” Delrin breathes. “Meet me by the kitchen?”

“I’ll be there chatting up Karla already.”

“You are the best bloody friend I could have dreamed of.”

“You’re a whiny sap,” Bull winks, “but I like you, too.”

Delrin tries to be as quiet as possible when he finally opens the door to their bedroom. The moon is full, and the silver light diffuses the darkness. Dot lifts her head as he walks in.

“ _Good girl,_ ” he whispers, seeing her guard Mira at the side of the bed. “I’m here.”

He washes up, changing in the bathroom to not disrupt Mira’s sleep, hoping it is peaceful. There’s still anger inside of him, but it dissipates when he lies down, replaced with a heaviness settling around his chest.

There is a lot he wishes for, and there is a lot he has always imagined being able to provide for his family. Each day there is a challenge and pain awaiting, and the woman next to him _depends_ on him, and he has power to fail her so utterly. It almost feels like he already does, despite how much he wishes for the opposite.

Mira rolls in her sleep. For a second Delrin thinks she will open his eyes, but she frowns instead, letting out a soft whimper, and then her forehead smooths again.

He touches the lock of her hair to reveal her cheek, and then some embarrassment catches up to him. Does he even have any right? He’s been kissing her on the forehead for a while now each time they greet each other or part, but it’s done nothing to minimize the significance of any other gesture, however small. 

_Sweet Andraste._

He has sworn himself to her, and he couldn’t have known how much it would matter and how quickly. 

The silence covers them both, and Delrin stares at the lines of Mira’s face, watching her breathe. His heart rattles, bare and vulnerable. 

He wants more, and more, and _all of it_ , and it’s terrifies him more than he would have ever guessed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It was a long chapter! Don't worry, the confrontation is approaching vey quickly now. I welcome all of your comments and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	8. Disclosures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira confronts Delrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a lot of painful themes, but none of them written explicitly and graphically. I prefer to be cautious giving content warnings.
> 
> Content warning: Fear of violence, fear of sexual violence, references to abuse.

For Delrin, the night is restless. He has no problem falling asleep, but he wakes up several times. At the first signs of dawning, he simply decides to get up and not waste any moment. 

Mira is still sleeping, and the tenderness swells when he glances at her snuggling the pillow. She must have been very tired last night, but she can rest now. Most of the guests will leave today after breakfast, and the social obligations will lessen. There will be more opportunities to build upon the bond between them, to carefully move forward. 

He takes Dot with him. Even though it is way too early, the second he reaches the main floor of the castle, he knows that his father is already up. The door to the study is ajar, and he can see the gentle flicker of a candle flame.

Delrin knocks before he enters, as the courtesy demands. 

His father, tall and proud as ever, but somehow older and more tired, lifts up his head. 

“Lord Merton already left,” Bann Barris says. 

“Already?” Delrin raises his eyebrows.

“He broke the nightstand on the door in some rage induced madness. One of the guards thought it wise to inform Commander Rutherford, who then needed to consult me. We’ve decided that it would be best to rescind any offer of hospitality. Lord Merton took his carriage and his personal servant, and left, issuing threats. I already sent out a letter to Bann Meighan. Alanna has always been a very level-headed woman. He is her blood, but I know she won’t approve. Merton is not allowed to step foot on any of our lands. It is possible the Inquisition lost his support, but I won’t be surprised if Bann Meighan decides to be generous.”

“It would benefit us greatly. Thank you, father.”

“I sincerely hope you didn’t think I would tolerate such behavior under my roof. I understand that soldiers crudely gossiping could deserve some leeway, but _this_?”

“I have never doubted you,” Delrin steels his voice. “Do you know how Gwen is holding up?”

“Barry sent a word that they plan to leave before breakfast to spare any inquires for the sake of Gwendolyn. He won’t let any harm come to her, and I suppose we shall see if there will be any resolution. I am sure Calvin will learn more, you know him and Barry are tight. How is Mira?”

“Still asleep. Fortunately unaware of what happened last night.”

“You could have stayed with her. No need for you to get up as early.”

“I’m meeting with Bull and letting Dot run around. We’re stopping by the kitchen, would you like me to send you something to the study?”

“Strong Antivan coffee and whatever sweets they have. Please, apologize to Mistress Karla for any bother.”

Delrin smirks. His father is not a man who shies away from his power, but he is also very fair, and he likes the proper order of affairs. Any time he makes an atypical request, he makes sure to thank his staff twice as diligently. They might not always see eye to eye, but Delrin has always admired his principles and integrity. 

“I will. I am sincerely ready for the quieter time. At least until we receive further orders.”

His father nods, his glance now more concerned.

“I will see you at breakfast, then,” he dismisses him. “Please send Bull my thanks, too. You have found a loyal and trusted friend in him.”

“I will make to sure to relay the praise,” Delrin smiles. “I will see you later.”

The kitchens are already busy, prepping for the last large meal before the guests’ departure. Delrin walks in and almost rolls his eyes. Usually the kitchen is a sacred space, not to be trespassed, even by the Bann himself. Mistress Karla runs her kingdom justly, but with a firm hand, and yet Bull is leaning against the stone oven with a mug of steaming tea in his hand, weaving a tale about dragon hunting to everyone’s delight. 

It is almost an art of seduction in itself, merely devoid of romance. It would be easy to chalk it up to Bull’s skills as a former spy, but some of that charm stems from his personality.

“There he is,” Bull exclaims. “Mistress Karla, can you imagine that this young man is still afraid of you?”

The woman scoffs at Bull, but she also grins, even as she raises her finger. “Tea will be coming right up. I hope it’s not true!”

“Of course it is true,” he assures Mistress Karla. “My father kindly asks for strong Antivan coffee and something sweet to munch on before breakfast. He apologizes for any inconvenience.”

“No need for that,” she laughs. “Of course. Everyone is up early today. All right, fresh sweet buns are coming right up, and I will send someone to the study in a minute.”

The tray fits more than they could eat, and the powdered sugar melts on top of the still warm dough, but that is the best part. They sit on one of the smaller terraces, far from possible interruptions. Dot runs loose, and Delrin takes a deep breath.

“I know you’re right about a lot of things,” he says, and the corner of Bull’s mouth twitches. “I have never felt so… inadequate, and to be truthful, I am afraid. I had spent many hours imagining what our marriage would be like before Mira came here. I thought I was prepared, but now there is another person whose life is intertwined with mine forever, whom I shall give home and family. That’s such an extreme intimacy. I can’t claim I am a stranger. I fall asleep each night next to her and I barely know her. I don’t know how to provide her with comfort. Each time she’s upset, she tries to hide. I can’t push, but I don’t know how to cross that bridge.”

“What about yesterday? I will be honest with you, you were both pretty lost in each other.”

“It was… lovely,” Delrin smiles, talking a sip of his tea. “We talked a lot yesterday, and I had an impression that Mira truly enjoyed my company.”

“Did you do anything different?”

Delrin groans, while Bull raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

“You are going to love it,” he sighs. “My mother berated me for not complimenting my wife and not paying her enough attention, and so I listened to that advice.”

Bull roars, almost spitting out the bun he’s eating, and shaking his head in disbelief.

“First of all, I adore your mother. Second of all, doesn’t it imply that it’s the step in the right direction? I told you yesterday, your scrupulosity does you no service, and it certainly does not help Mira. Yes, the matter is delicate, but so are you.”

“I’ve almost said something stupid several times already, and I only imagine the possible damage. You know me. You know I’m not a shy man, but the stakes have never been higher. It is not a mere flirtation; we can’t just part ways if things go south. We’re _married_ , and believe me, I am not displeased with the match, I am just… terrified of the weight of it all. I can flirt, believe me, but to be honest, none of my relationships were more than dalliances, and I’ve never courted anyone properly.“

“You know I can’t help you there,” Bull says. “Does it matter? Courting or not, honesty and openness are necessary to communicate. If you want to build a meaningful relationship, you have to talk, and that means you have to take risks. The stakes won’t lower two weeks from now.”

“I know you’re right,” he relents.

“I am not surprised that you struggle,” Bull looks at him with compassion. “Your whole life has changed.”

* * *

Mira wakes up just as she fell asleep - _alone_ , although there are clear signs that Delrin spent the night in here as well. Is he avoiding her after last night, or has something happened and he’s simply busy? 

She doesn’t know anything, but she can’t lock herself in the bedroom.

Downstairs, lady Adriana explains that lord Merton, lady Gwendolyn and the Cromwalls had to leave. Mira recalls lady Gwendolyn’s tears, and then her words, too. She would never wish family troubles on anyone, but it would be a lie to say that there’s no relief. She doesn’t need to face lady Gwendolyn anymore.

_He deserves better._

The words are still fresh, and so is the wound, 

What does Delrin expect of her? To be a trophy on his arm? A polite conversation here and there? Should she have any hope for more? 

“Sweetheart,” lady Adriana touches her shoulder. “Delrin and the Iron Bull are having tea on the terrace by the library. Would you be so kind and tell them to gather for breakfast?”

“Certainly,” Mira smiles.

She would not refuse a request, even with the nervousness rising in the stomach. 

Yesterday, Mira dared, and today, she can’t shake off her insecurity as she moves through the corridors and then the library. The doors outside are open, and she sees Delrin lost in the conversation with his friend. 

The voice stops in her throat, because she imagines speaking up and for Delrin to look at her as a bother. A useless burden he gives attention from to time, as he ought to, as the appearances call for. 

“I know this is only temporary,” Delrin says, “and I know what I need to do in the meantime, but Mira is so passive—“

He notices her presence at the exact moment when her heart shatters. 

_Oh._

That’s how it is. 

“ _Mira!”_ He exclaims, standing up immediately. 

_This is only temporary._

Mira blinks, trying to anchor herself onto something, some thought, something to snap out of it, but all she can focus on is not even the pain, but the fear. It attacks all at once, and she struggles to grasp onto the shreds of composure, to delay the reckoning.

“Lady Adriana asked me to tell you that breakfast is ready.”

By the sheer miracle, the words leave her mouth. 

There are shame and guilt on Delrin’s face, and she can’t bear it. She won’t bear it, so she averts her eyes as the Iron Bull passes her by. 

Her legs are weak at the knees and Mira shivers.

_No._

She might not have any pride left, but she needs a clear head if she wants to survive. If he sends her back, _she will die._

The fear chokes her, it claws on her, it digs through her flesh. It tries to reach her very core, but Mira can’t let it, not now. She has to keep it at bay. 

What else is there but to walk away? 

“Mira, wait, please,” Delrin asks.

There’s nothing she owes him. He has no right. _None._

Step by step. Her muscles feel as if made of lint, but she’s walking nonetheless, faster and faster, and even though she can hear Delrin following after her, she doesn’t stop. Not until she enters the dining room.

The crowd around the table offers her time to collect herself, to consider her options. Her hands still fidget, and she’s afraid to touch her cup and spill the tea. At least lord Kenneth is dependable with one of his many stories. Yes, she would love to hear it, and she smiles to make a point. The second the man starts talking, Mira can finally catch her breath. 

Food get stuck in her throat, and she can barely swallow. _This is temporary._ The worst is to happen, and she has to prevent it. She can’t return to Hasmal, she can’t even cross the Waking Sea, because once she does—

—Yosef’s face appears in her mind. Now that she’s been married, Mira doubts there would be anything stopping him from taking whatever he desires. Even with the annulment, she would be just _leftovers_ after the enemy soldier, and she fears her father would not be lenient again. He wouldn’t give her back to the Chantry. It would be admitting defeat. Even her mother warned her about it. 

If she returns to Hasmal, they will kill her. 

What can she do? There is no way she can avoid Delrin, and she has no means to run away. Where would she go? The accent alone betrays her identity. She has no coin, not even enough jewelry to buy anyone’s silence. It would never work. She could go to Cassandra, she supposes, but first, she needs to talk with her own husband, and have faith that he’s honorable enough to not let her die.

Mira will beg. She had done it before with her father; she can do it right now. Pride is an easy price for a chance to live, and she will cry and plead, and Delrin will listen to her. 

_He must._

* * *

Throughout the whole breakfast, Mira does not even glance in his direction. Delrin doesn’t dare to open his mouth, even to ask whether she’d like more tea. Her body is stiff, as if she’s ready to flee. 

Sweet Andraste, he fucked up.

He can’t unsee the disappointment and pain in Mira’s eyes. There’s no way for him to guess how much of the conversation she overheard. It was not wrong to confide in a friend and ask for advice, but he spoke freely of his frustrations, and it doesn’t surprise him that she feels betrayed. Delrin would never allow himself to choose the same words if he knew they would not remain private.

Maker, not only he has messed up any connection between them, but he has hurt his quiet and reserved wife. 

The only silver lining is that now he has no choice but to open up. He will be honest, he will apologize, he will ask for forgiveness and he will do better, hoping that Mira will look at him again with as much warmth as yesterday. 

_Fuck._

All this time he’s wanted to be sensitive and tactful, and now he can sense the walls rising around Mira, guarding her.

He won’t lead training today, that much is obvious, and he doesn’t even need to say anything, because Bull nods the second he catches his eye. Well, he just hopes that Mira will even want to listen to what he says to say. 

The guests depart after breakfast. Saying goodbyes and exchanging pleasantries seems to last forever, and Delrin tries to come up with words of apology. 

_Finally._

Before he speaks up, Mira places her hand on his arm. 

“Can we talk somewhere private?” She asks, and her voice already trembles.

“Absolutely, I—“

“—Not to the bedroom, and somewhere _really private_?”

“Of course,” he swallows the painful lump in his throat.

She has yet to meet his the eyes.

He thinks for a second, and then he leads her through the gardens to what used to be one of his hiding spots in childhood. A large stone shed with gardening tools that has a convenient storage loft. Delrin remembers quite the few games of hide-and-seek he won thanks to that place. 

Part of him is embarrassed as Mira climbs up the ladder, but she does not seem to mind. They sit down, and the loft is much smaller than his memory would suggest.

When she finally lifts her eyes to look at him, he sees that she’s on the verge of crying and that her lips quiver.

“Mira,” he whispers. “ _I am so sorry_ —“

“Let me speak,” she cuts him off.

“All right,” he nods, looking at her sweet, sad face as the tears start flowing.

It grips his heart, and he takes a deep breath.

“Delrin,” Mira sobs. “Please, I am begging you, don’t send me back, my father will kill me if you do. Please, I promise, I won’t cause you any trouble and I won’t contest the annulment, you can send me to the cloister, I don’t want a thing, I just don’t want to die, _please_ —“

 _What?_ He stares at her, grasping onto the words, and yet they don’t make sense. 

“ _Please,_ ” she adds, crying harder and harder as her face turns redder and redder. “Please, you don’t understand how it is, but if I come back, I’ll die. Nobody will believe me that you haven’t touched me, and Yosef will rape me. They would never trust me after living here. Please, please, I don’t want to die, _I am begging you, please_ —“

_What the fuck is going on?_

“ _Mira_ ,” he interrupts her, reaching out to grasp her shoulder, which startles her further. “What are you talking about? Why do you think you are in danger? I don’t understand what you mean. _What’s going on_?”

She struggles to take a breath, overcome by tears, and now he sees just how afraid she must be. 

“I heard you,” she manages. “You said that this is only temporary.”

 _Fuck. No, no, no, no._

“Mira,” he rushes. “That’s not at all what I meant. How would even— _Mira, we’re married_. Is that how you understood my words? That’s not what I meant. I would never send you away. It has never even crossed my mind. How could it? You’re my wife, I made a vow to you at the altar.”

The steady stream of tears is falling down her cheeks, and Delrin tries to grasp what in the void she might be thinking.

“You made a vow,” she breathes, “but you have never—we have never…”

“ _Wait,_ ” he frowns, the fog lifting a bit. “Do you worry that our marriage might be invalid because we’ve never, uhm, consummated it?”

He can’t tell anymore if the color of her complexion is due to shame or crying.

“You could request annulment.”

“No,” he says. “I couldn’t, and why would I? Mira—“

“It’s evident that I displease you.”

 _How_ —What in the Maker’s name is going on?

“Mira, wait,” he tries again. “I don’t know why you think that, but it’s not true. Let me just say what I need to say first. Mira, I am not sending you back to Hasmal. _Never_. You’re safe, I promise with everything that I am. I swear to you. I was talking with Bull to ask him for advice. When I said that this was temporary, I meant the stage when we don’t know each other that well. I promise you, I’ve never had an inkling that you might worry that I could just… _return you_. It has never crossed my mind. Your father will never touch you, and no one will hurt you. I am so sorry for what I said, but please, believe me that no harm will come to you.”

* * *

Delrin’s eyes blaze when he promises that he’s not shipping her off to Hasmal, and Mira studies his face to find any sign of deception.

“You won’t send me back?” She has to make sure. 

“Of course not. I am so sorry that you thought I would. I assumed it was clear that our marriage is genuine and true, and I have never intended to give you any cause of concern.”

“You have shown little interest.”

His gaze doesn’t leave her, and Mira burns underneath. 

“Mira, I would never dare to expect anything from you. I had no idea you might be afraid that our marriage could be… invalid because of that. We’ve just met, I thought it was obvious—“

“You don’t need to shame me for thinking otherwise.”

“ _No_ ,” he says quickly. “ _I would never_ —I would never do that. I never wanted any affection to be a duty.”

“I didn’t think it would be,” she blurts out. “Not for me, anyway. You’re the one that acts like I am preying on your virtue. How was I supposed to interpret your behavior? When we met, you seemed pleased with me. You certainly did not appear to suffer when you were kissing me on our wedding day, but the second we found ourselves alone you withheld any care and affection.”

“I wanted to show you that you’re safe with me, and that I would never place any demands—“

“Well, you’ve certainly succeeded at the latter. You did not even want to share a bed with me.”

“I thought you were afraid of me. You looked scared. I wanted to make you comfortable.”

The memory still prickles like a thorn.

“I was embarrassed, not scared,” she replies, exasperated. “You never talked to me. I got ready for you. _For you!_ You’re the only man to have seen me so bare and you looked away.”

“ _Oh,_ ” he gasps.

The anger rises the more she’s staring at Delrin’s confused face. 

“You don’t talk to me,” she breathes. “You rarely ask me anything meaningful. How can I know what you’re thinking when you never tell me? You were so charming throughout our wedding day, and then you wouldn’t even look at me. You made sure to avert your eyes each time. You’ve been toying with my emotions! You told me I was lovely, and then you let another woman touch you. You professed your fidelity to me and then I woke up in your arms the next morning and you acted horrified to have me so close. Then you complimented me and said that I was breathtaking and held my hand and flirted with me, but when I asked you to come somewhere private with me, you ignored me. You barely even noticed me. And today you complain that I am passive? _How dare you?_ How dare you claim that I am the passive one?”

“ _I am so sorry,_ ” he whispers. “Mira, I can promise you that all my mistakes stem from my misunderstandings and are not a reflection on how I feel towards our marriage, or you. I know you didn’t choose any of this, and I truly wished to… win your trust.”

“How would you ‘ _win my trust’_? How was that supposed to happen?”

“I wanted to make sure you have all the choice.”

“You left me with all the responsibility! And now you hold it against me. You complained about me being passive. What did you expect to happen? That one day I would come and seduce you to take away any discomfort and guilt you feel over the arranged part of our marriage?”

“I was afraid that you’d agree to something you don’t truly desire. Your father mentioned that you would… _obey me_ , and you have been so polite. I got scared at how I could hurt you.”

An inescapable fate. 

“I am my own person, however little recognition this world gives me,” Mira says, hot tears flowing down her cheeks again. “I haven’t realized you’d take my kindness as weakness. Is it truly astounding that I would be polite in a new country and a new home to a man that is my husband? I am sorry that even my disposition has not gained your approval, _my lord._ ”

Delrin looks deflated. 

“Mira,” he whispers. “No words will be adequate but I assure you that for all my failure, I definitely see you as your own person. Please, I don’t—I’ve been a coward, and it’s on all me.”

“I know how it is, Delrin” she covers her face, aware how she must look, but she no longer cares, “I can’t quite fault you for it. I know that for me this all has been a chance to find something better. I know who I am. I know who my father is. I know what my life looked like before, and I also know what you could have had if not for this truce—“

“ _Please,_ ” he pleads.

“ _It’s true!_ ” She insists, breaking in a loud sob. “For me, this has been an opportunity, and for you, a sacrifice and a burden. You have been respectful, and kind, and so has been your family. I just hoped that my husband would notice me, and get to know me, and _like_ me.”

“Mira—“

“I know I was handed to you like a thing, but I hoped you’d see me for who I am, and _I’ve tried_. I have no experience in those matters. You know it, because my father told you. I lived in the cloister, for Maker’s sake. I made it clear last night that I wanted to have… some alone time with you, and you ignored me, and today you complain about me when I cried myself to sleep because I was confused at why you had rejected me.”

“Mira,” he rasps, “Last night lord Merton behaved so despicably we had to restrain him and let the guards hold watch for the night. I am so sorry for ignoring you. I was distracted, but I swear on everything, I would not reject you. There are no words adequate to apologize, but I do apologize.”

“I don’t even know what you expect of me.”

“Oh, Mira. I know our circumstances are not comparable, and that I made this choice myself, but my hopes are the same as yours. It has terrified me that that you would be afraid or resent me because your father forced you to marry. I’ve wished for you to see me as a man I think I am, and that you would feel safe here, and yes, that you would like me, too. I have always hoped that we would find more in our marriage, despite everything. I still hope for that. I am deeply ashamed that not only I’ve made you feel rejected and unwanted but also unsafe. You were scared that I would send you away to get hurt and _killed_ —“

Delrin chokes on his voice. 

“ _I am sorry,_ ” he says, rubbing his eyes. “For everything. I am asking for your forgiveness, and for a chance to let me prove to you that I not as hopeless and I’ve shown myself to be. I don’t seek to excuse my actions, but please believe me that I’ve never wanted to cause you pain, and, uhm. I do notice you. I wish I’ve shown it better. I meant every compliment I have given you. You are lovely in every way. Please don’t take my failures as lack of interest or care, because it’s not true. I can only imagine how significant of a change it is for you, and I am truly sorry that I’ve left you alone because I’ve been a coward.”

There’s a knot in her throat, and Mira finds herself speechless as she watches Delrin wipe off the few tears escaping his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m certainly not upset that you have emotions,” she manages. “I am actually… _relieved._ ”

“I’ve always been calm by nature,” he gives out a short, broken laugh. “Some of it is just my personality, but I assure you, I have feelings, too.”

They stare at each other in silence. The anger inside dissipates with crying, and now Mira feels raw and fragile. 

“I am sorry,” Delrin repeats once again. “I am not trying to make it about myself.”

“You’re not,” she whispers. 

“I should be consoling you, not the other way around. Offer you a chest to cry on, at least.”

“Are you… offering?” She dares for the last time. 

“Maker, _yes_ ,” he reaches out to her with no hesitation.

Suddenly her arms wrap around his neck and his on her back, and Delrin pulls her into his lap, close. _Closer._

His scent covers her, his body warms her up. It’s impossible to hold back. She leans on him, she breathes him in, and she cries. 

Mira doesn’t remember the last time someone held her like this.

* * *

Mira is crying because of him. Misunderstandings or not, she is crying because of him, and yet she allows him _this_. 

Delrin feels her weight on his lap, and how well she fits into his embrace. Her curls brush against his chin, her tears wet his neck, but she is clinging to him with all her might.

It leaves him entirely defenseless. 

If his heart rattled yesterday, now it’s drumming with full force. 

Sweet Andraste, she thought she was going to die. 

Her breath tickles his skin, but there’s more. She is giving him her sadness, her anger, her disappointment, her warmth. He’s not hiding, either. They have seen each other cry.

It’s different from up close. Everything more tangible and less careful. 

He has seen her puffy face before, but he has never seen her so upset, so wounded, and he could have prevented this. 

Maker preserve him, he couldn’t have been more wrong in his assumptions. It will be different now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “for all of it.”

“You don’t need to apologize again,” she says softly. 

“I need to make sure you know that there are things I’d never do. I meant what said about fidelity. Gwen surprised me and I assure you that her flirting attempts had nothing to do with me.”

“I figured that already,” she answers. 

“I am sorry for being so distracted yesterday. It was a lovely evening otherwise.”

“It left me quite confused.”

“I will do better,” he promises. 

“I don’t want you to feel that you must, because I know you’re right, it shouldn’t be a duty—“

“Mira,” he interrupts her. “ _It’s not._ ”

The only path left is to be open, moving forward. There are still lines he won’t cross, but some comfort settles in. He won’t cause further damage, and silence has only made things worse. 

Mira’s quiet, nuzzling the crook of his neck, but she’s resting in him, and it matters.

“I am not entirely oblivious,” he whispers. “I could guess a lot about your childhood and your home. When your father handed you to me—Mira, I could tell. You told me later than leaving was not difficult. I know I’ve missed so much, but I’ve paid attention, too. I knew there was hurt hiding somewhere, and I was afraid to step on it, to make you reveal more than you want to. I don’t want to insert myself in a space where I don’t belong, but I want to get to know you. 

“I’d rather you ask plainly,” she says, pulling away and sitting next to him.

She’s still close, leaning on his shoulder. 

He asks about her childhood, about voivode Surma and his wife, about Hasmal, and she tells him. She tells him about being a withdrawn, awkward child. About the house with tall walls and the tension that was there since she could have remembered. About the stables and the horses, and the music lessons, and how her mother always seemed disappointed in her lack of grace. About Surma’s temper and how she slowly learned what it meant to be her father’s daughter. About the realizations that fell upon her about the regime, and their home, however blurry and confusing. About Yosef, her father’s right hand, who had always taken an interest in her, and who had wanted to ask for her hand before she begged to go to the cloister. More about her life there, and how relief came first, and then work, and then sadness over how different everything could have been if she only was someone else. About the guilt burning her inside, and how nothing could quench it at first, and how she tried to wash it away every single day. 

There are many things he tells her, too, and some that he has told no one else. Trust and intimacy cannot be forced, but the air around is tender, and Mira so vulnerable it is impossible not to talk. He tells her about being excited to leave home and join the Order, and all the tears that followed, because it was hard to be away. About the civil war, and how scared he was for his parents, even though that part of Bannorn remained unscathed. About the first time he saw someone die, and about the first time he killed. About the Dragon’s Peak mission and how he was praised for his composure; and later, all alone, he couldn’t stop vomiting for the rest of the night. About the corruption within the Templars, and his regrets. About the soldiers dying under his command. About the way he spoke to his father not so long ago that made them not talk to each other for months. About the current war, and the responsibility he feels for people he’s leading now.

It is impossible to fit a whole life into a conversation, but he holds nothing back. They are not strangers anymore, not in the slightest. Delrin doesn’t know what it means, except that they are married and confidants, and he lets her see the parts that usually stay hidden. 

Perhaps it has always been like that. He’s always been a private person, and he’s always had the ease of communication and charm, but he has never revealed much. 

Nothing Mira offers is trite. She’s kind and direct, and he senses her caution and warmth. To be honest, talking with her is easy. Awkward, fraught with insecurity, but easy. Not what he’d imagined.

“You didn’t know about the marriage negotiations until they were over, right?”

Delrin knows the answer, but there is a difference between knowing and hearing it through Mira’s own words. 

“Yes,” she confirms. “One night, Yosef and his men arrived at the cloister and… that was it. It took such a short time. He was the one to tell me.”

“I am sorry, Mira.”

“For whatever it’s worth, I was… _hopeful_. All I was thinking of was finally leaving Hasmal, and I was counting on you to turn out to be a good person.”

“I am really sor—“

“—Please, don’t apologize anymore. It’s forgiven. All the miscommunication can’t take away the fact that I’ve always felt that you’re kind and respectful. I’ve never been truly afraid of you, either. Nervous around you, nervous about a lot of things, but not afraid.”

“I try to be a good man,” he admits. “I was hoping you would be a good person, too.”

“I can imagine,” she sighs, blushing again. “I’m a daughter of a monster. I had no choice in who my parents are, but it taints me. It’s all that some people see. It is an inescapable reality, something I will never be free of.”

“You’re not _tainted_ , Mira,” he says. “I know you’re right in how some perceive you, but you need to know that not what I think. Your father’s actions are on him, and you _are_ your own person.”

“If we confess everything,” she whispers, “Part of me wondered if that was the reason why you did not seem to… take interest in me. Because you wouldn’t risk having a child with someone of my blood. Even those soldiers remarked upon it.”

It takes his breath away.

“ _That’s just_ —,” he stops mid-sentence, “It’s a despicable way to think. I would not presume anything, but I suppose I’ve imagined I—we—, uhm, could have a family one day. It depends on how you feel about it, too.”

“I’ve imagined it as well.”

“I want you to know that you always have a choice in our marriage. That’s what I was trying to show and failed at it, but my intentions remain true. I want you to know you have a say, and rights, and none of it depends on my whims. You have legal protections here in Ferelden. I don’t have power over you.”

“You _do_ have power over me,” she corrects him. 

It’s true. 

“I do,” he relents. “I know I do, in some way. You’re in a new country, in my home. I am aware of the imbalances between us, but all I can do is to promise you that there are customs and laws that protect you. I want you to trust me, and believe in me, but I know your safety should not rely on my good will, and it doesn’t. You’re my wife, you have rights to everything I own and you always have a say over what we decide. There are vows between us, but none of them of obedience. It wouldn’t be right, and I wouldn’t want it.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“ _Please,_ ” he begs. “That’s not something that I should be thanked for.”

“All right. I am glad you mention it, because it’s been difficult to navigate what I can and cannot say, what I can and cannot do. I’ve tried to be… _mindful_.”

“You don’t need to be _mindful_ , Mira. I am glad you spoke freely today. I’m ashamed that you had to, but I’m glad, nonetheless.”

“Me too,” she smiles.

Delrin realizes that he adores that smile. Each time it warms him, but today it means more. Mira has seen his flaws and failures, and he has brought her pain. At the end of it all, or maybe a new beginning, she smiles, not having lost all her faith in him.

It matters to him. _She matters to him_.

* * *

It is Delrin’s idea that they skip dinner. It must have been hours they spent talking in this tiny loft inside the garden shed. Her heart is sore, like a muscle after a trying day. It won’t heal right away, and that’s fine.

_He’s not sending her back._

All her feelings are raw and bare, but Mira knows that his hopes match with hers. 

Delrin has been so contrite. She could see the shame of a man who relies on his conscience and principles. It brings her peace. 

Today, they’ve uncovered truths about each other. There is no going back, not after a conversation like this. 

It’s good for both of them. A bit tender. 

Something has changed already. All this time she wondered if Delrin was merely well-mannered, but now she sees the softness behind his words and gestures. Now she knows where it comes from. 

He’s not forward. Perhaps even shyer, but at the same time, she can see how much he tries to tend to her needs.

They walk back to the castle through one of the back entrances, and Delrin makes sure nobody sees them. Not for his sake, more to shield her. When she looks at herself in the mirror above the dresser in their chambers, there are undeniable signs of crying all over her face.

Delrin has seen all of that and he doesn’t look away. 

“You missed your practice,” she says.

“Please,” he glances at her. “There’s no emergency. If my squadron can’t practice without me for one day, I have failed them. I am not leaving you today unless you tell me very sternly that you would like to be alone.”

“No,” Mira concedes. “I don’t want to be alone. I think I need to refresh myself though.”

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” He suggests. “I will bring us food in the meantime.”

“Bath would be nice,” she remarks as the tiredness washes over her. “Are you sure your parents won’t mind us missing dinner?”

“We deserve some rest after today,” he answers.

The bath soothes some aches, but Mira remains restless. There is no way she can obliterate her past. She thought this part would be quick, like amputating a limb beyond saving, but the phantom pain lingers, dull and muffled.

What the future holds now?

A delicate flutter of warmth spreads around her heart. It’s not like before with her trying to read the signs and guess his intentions.

Now she knows that Delrin wants their marriage to work, that he’s been thinking of their future too.

_This isn’t temporary._

Somehow it makes her more timid when she’s putting on a nightgown and covers herself with a robe. 

“I was thinking,” Delrin says when they eat their dinner alone, in the privacy of their bedroom, “that we could go somewhere tomorrow in the afternoon. I will attend the morning practice and then I have one meeting, but afterwards we could spend time together. Just you and me. A bit of respite from any obligations.”

“I like the idea,” she replies.

“Good. I’ll think of something we could do.”

Mira wishes the blush on her cheeks was less evident, but her husband is too polite to mention it.

They are still cautious with each other, but the air between them feels different, and so is the conversation, however casual. It no longer seems as if he’s trying to pass the time and deal with a wife he was burdened with. He’s just trying to get to know her better. 

By the time the bedtime comes, Mira lies under the covers and tries to focus on words right in front of her eyes, but a novel provides no distraction. Delrin would not be bold, not after a day like this, but is it going to be like every other night?

What an odd, confusing emotion to have the certainty that all the sweet words he’s ever said have been true. Now she is the one averting her eyes when he’s walking out of the bathroom, and she chastises herself for it. 

“What are you reading?” He asks, getting into bed. 

“A romance novel,” she answers, placing the book on the nightstand. “I’m done, anyway. I think I’m rather exhausted.”

There’s no lie in that remark, but Mira wonders if she is the one putting some distance between them now. 

They extinguish the reading candles, and the night covers them like a blanket. It’s easier that way.

All of this is new.

“Would you like to… cuddle?” Delrin asks.

“Would you?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he says. “If you want to.”

Mira shifts closer, aware that there’s only a thin layer of fabric between them. He lifts his arm to make space for her, and she places her head on his chest, clinging to him.

It feels awkward.

His body is warm, and so is his scent. Delrin runs his hand across her spine, caressing her gently. She moves a bit, making herself more comfortable, wrapping her arm across his waist, pressing her thighs to his leg.

_Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub._

The beating of his heart sounds so loud. So near. 

“You always smell so nice,” Delrin murmurs. “Like an orchard.”

It doesn’t feel awkward anymore.

It feels wonderful.

“You always smell nice too,” she smiles into his chest.

His fingers brush her back, up and down. Mira closes her eyes, mellowing into him. 

“Can we sleep like this?” She asks.

“Yes,” he whispers and she could swear he’s smiling as well. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Delrin kisses the top of her head.

All is right in the world, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally talked! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I took me longer to finish than I anticipated, but it was an intense week. I hope you are all staying safe, and please know how much I appreciate the comments, even when it takes me a couple of days to reply to them ^^.


	9. Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin and Mira learn each other quite diligently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.
> 
> It'e explicit.

The castle appears more pleasant now that the guests are gone, or perhaps there’s another explanation for her good mood today, like a faint recollection of waking up to Delrin getting ready for a morning drill. The memory is soft and blurry, but Mira knows it was not a dream. He placed a small peck on top of her head, and told her that he couldn’t wait to see her later, and then she fell back to sleep, relaxed and content.

There an echo of hurt deep inside of her, but it doesn’t overshadow the warm anticipation for a day that can bring them together anew. It is a leap of faith. A precarious step, but so much has changed already, and now Mira is certain that she won’t be alone. 

She smiles when Delrin arrives for luncheon, and he smiles back so openly. He kisses her forehead again, but this time seems different, as his hand stays on her arm a little longer. 

“It is such a beautiful day,” he says. “I thought we could go for a walk? I can finally show you the river. It is not far, we don’t even need to take the horses.”

“That would be lovely,” she replies, not caring where they go, as long as they continue getting to know each other. 

Her eagerness almost embarrasses her, but she has spent enough time ashamed of that. There’s nothing wrong with desiring affection. There is nothing wrong with yearning to discover it all with a man who is her husband.

The luncheon can’t end quickly enough.

Finally, they go out, the sun high in the sky. Mira feels the spring in her steps as they stray from the path and walk down the meadows.

“I haven’t been there in a while,” he remarks. “It’s a small river. I used to play in it all the time as a child when the weather was hot.”

“You’re fond of your childhood, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he admits. “I’m fond of Barrfield. It’s a wonderful place for a child, and I still enjoy it. There’s large forest, two small lakes not far away, a river. I’ve always enjoyed swimming.”

“It does not surprise me. You seem very active.”

“Do you swim?” He glances at her. “It’s not common here, to be honest.”

“I do,” she confirms. “In Hasmal, we believe in a particular fortitude of body and spirit. It is customary to swim in chilly waters to harden yourself.”

“That sounds very… _disciplined_.”

“There is a reward after that, which is a bathhouse offering hot steam baths. Once again, it’s supposed to be good for your body and soul. We also use bath brooms for massages or smacking. _Delrin…_ You don’t need to look so scandalized.”

“I am not,” he frowns at her. “Believe me, I am more intrigued than anything else.”

“Well,” Mira takes a deep breath. “There are things I am quite curious about here in Ferelden.”

“Ask away,” he smirks. “It will be my honor to satisfy your curiosity.”

The heat spreads through her body, and Mira she can’t blame the sun shining above. He’s flirting, isn’t he? He’s flirting, and she doesn’t know how to be good at it.

* * *

Andraste preserve him; was he too bold? 

Delrin sees the tinge of blush on Mira’s cheeks, and she’s smiling. She likes him, that much is obvious, so why is this so difficult? The memory of her tears is still strong. What if he acts too forward now? Should he let some time pass before asking for a kiss or would that be falling into the old patterns?

Her outfit is simple, but Mira looks particularly gorgeous today. Perhaps he simply dares for his gaze to linger longer. The sun shines on her, turning her curls to fire and giving her skin a golden tint. She radiates warmth, and Delrin wants to pull her close and feel it.

The meadow smells fresh and flowery. The nature at its fullest. They could rest on the boulders across the river and wet their feet. 

“We can cross the river and sit down,” he gestures at the tree trunk serving as a footbridge.

“Sure.”

It is a shallow river. It wouldn’t reach up to his knees. Delrin goes in first, testing the log, but it is very stable. Mira follows him with no hesitation, and then he hears a scream and turns just to see her fall into the water onto her hands and knees.

He jumps down immediately.

“Mira, are you all right?” He asks, picking her in his arms and carrying her across.

“I’m fine,” she says when he puts her down to stand and holds her hands to check for any injuries.

“Sit down on the rock,” he instructs, examining her palms. “I’m so sorry, that looked like it hurt.”

“Mostly my dignity,” she laughs it off. “My ankle feels tender, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing.”

She pulls up the hem of her skirt to touch the spot. To Delrin’s eye, untrained but accustomed to contusions and battle injuries, nothing appears worrisome.

“I’m fine,” Mira repeats, and he finally lifts his eyes to look at her properly.

 _Oh, sweet Andraste_.

The water splashed on her face, now covered with droplets and glistening in the sun. The end of the curls got wet, but that’s not what distracts him. Her soaked white shirt clings to her body, and not only he can see all the delicate lace of her undergarment but also her glorious heavy breasts. Her chest rises up and down, and he tries to focus on something, her eyes, her lips, something other than the hard nipples poking through the thin fabric.

She’s so fucking beautiful, and he has no right—Except that’s his wife who felt rejected because he was averting his gaze before, and now—

_Focus!_

“Let me give you my doublet,” he offers, unbuttoning it with haste.

“Delrin,” she sounds amused. “I don’t think it’s going to make me feel much warmer. It’s all right.”

“I suspect you wouldn’t want everyone to see you… in a wet shirt,” he whispers lamely, not allowing himself a second glance.

“ _Maker!_ ” She gathers his meaning and covers herself as he extends his hand to pass his jacket, looking away. “I am so, so sorry—“

“ _Please_ —“

“I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

Delrin doesn’t know if Mira says it on purpose, if it’s a flirtation or a figure of speech, but he won’t lie.

“I would not say that I am sorry,” he replies.

“ _Oh._ ”

How is he to read that sigh? 

“Thank you for the doublet,” she adds, and he turns towards her.

There’s this unmistakable flush on her cheeks, a sign of embarrassment, perhaps hiding more. Maker, he craves _more_ ; and now another silly obstacle interrupted them. 

“We should probably head back and get changed.”

“Just a minute,” she insists, so he sits down next to her.

“Whatever you need,” he assures her. 

Is she shivering? It’s a sunny day, but Mira just got drenched in an ice cold water. His own legs seem half-frozen. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, covering her face. “Every single time we try to spend time together, something happens. I am not a superstitious person by any means, but it’s getting ridiculous. We’re married already, for Maker’s sake.”

She’s right. Enough of hesitation, enough of faltering. 

“Mira,” he touches her arm as she drops her hands down.

“Yes?”

They lock eyes, and Delrin wants to drown in her sweetness. 

“I am dying to kiss you,” he simply says, all true.

“ _Please,_ ” Mira breathes.

* * *

_Yes_ , Mira thinks when Delrin’s lips meet hers. He kisses her tenderly, and everything about it tastes better than she remembered. She brings her hand to his jawline, feeling the roughness of his facial hair underneath her fingertips. _Yes._ His lips are plush, soft and perfect, and it is so easy to kiss him. She almost whines when he pulls away to allow them to catch a breath, and she moves her other hand onto the back of his neck, bringing him closer.

 _Yes._ Delrin grabs a fistful of her hair and she opens her mouth in response, nudging him with her tongue. He groans into her mouth, and his doublet falls off her arms. It doesn’t take away the cold and the icy prickles on her skin, but the flame inside burns brighter. It is a different kiss now when their tongues are touching. Deeper, intoxicating, and Mira melts into it. She melts into him, wrapping her arms around him and not letting go. 

Yes, she wants him, and now he knows. He has to know.

Her lips have never been kissed as much when he shifts away, as gently as it started.

“You kiss so well,” Mira whispers before even opening her eyes.

She can feel his laughter as he touches her face. His eyes, when she finally looks into them, are soft. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says. “And you’re shivering.”

“It’s not only the cold,” Mira dares, making him grin. “But yes, we can head back.”

That smile alone makes everything better. 

“As my lady commands,” he teases and helps her to put on the jacket. “I am looking forward to kissing you again with my feet dry this time.”

“That sentence has no right to be as enticing,” she counters, “but somehow it is.”

The tenderness takes over when Mira looks at the kind, handsome face of the man before her. _Her husband_. Her sweet, careful husband whose kisses could melt ice. 

She glances at the river ahead of them. 

“So now we have to cross it again,” she sighs.

“I am a better man than to risk having you fall again. I’m carrying you through,” Delrin stands up.

“How is that…?” She giggles when he picks her up in his arms in one swift move. “ _Delrin!_ ”

“Trust me?” He asks when she clings to him.

“I might trust you, I don’t trust a wood that’s wet.”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs. “I’ll tell you when we’re on the other side.”

Mira burrows her face into his neck. The cold on her breast and cleavage is disturbing, and his skin rubs against her. Still, Delrin smells nice and safe, and she chooses to trust him in ways that matter, with her feelings.

“And we’re here,” he says, and she kisses his cheek before he puts her down. 

His shirt is now wet in the front too, and something about seeing Delrin so disheveled is unexpectedly wonderful. _Homely._

They stare at each other, both awkward but grinning at the same time. 

“I am not sure what to say,” she breaks the silence.

“You don’t need to say anything now,” Delrin takes her hand in his. “Let’s go home. We’ll find some words on the way there.”

He’s right. They walk together, holding hands, and even the unpleasantness of wet clothes can’t take away the joy in her heart. It’s shy one time, bolder another. They find the words to say, and Mira feels she might have found a place to belong, too.

* * *

It’s fantastic. New, and careful, and absolutely fantastic. Now in fresh clothing and warmed up by the hot tea, they sit on the terrace by the library, the same place where Mira overheard his words yesterday. This time they are together, Mira on his lap. They exchange slow, lazy kisses, and he can’t get enough of her soft lips, sweet from honey. 

There is much to look for in the future. There are still matters unresolved in his heart, and he is certain that his wife feels the same, but a sense of peace washes over him, nonetheless. The anxiety and fears that were there before have largely dissipated. 

Mira brushes her lips against his jawline, and Delrin smiles. He has noticed that she likes to feel his facial hair. How much she would enjoy it in _other places_?

Sweet Andraste, he can’t rush anything, but he allows himself to want her with no guilt.

“What?” She whispers when he gets lost in looking at her for too long.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, caressing her hair.

Here on his lap, here in his arms; here in Ferelden, here in this marriage. All of those.

“I’m glad to be here,” she says solemnly before catching his lips with hers.

Delrin knows it is all tender, and that it takes will and strength for her to trust him now. He will not take it for granted.

“It feels less odd than I thought it would,” Mira laughs and he follows. “Do you know what I mean? We’ve known each other for less than two weeks. It should be the most bizarre thing in the world, but somehow it’s not. Do you ever think about it?”

“Yes,” he agrees. “I had thought about it before we even met but everything has changed since then. You stopped being a stranger I had imagined and became… _you_. I can’t describe it in a better way. I treat my duties seriously, all of them, but this is not about duty. You matter to me.”

“I’ve always dreamed of leaving Hasmal and being far enough from it all to finally be free and have a life on my own. I can’t deny that I was glad to leave, but I don’t treat you as an opportunity. That is not why I kiss you now.”

“I know,” he takes her hand in his and marvels how small it seems in comparison.

“I know it weights on you that I had no choice,” Mira remarks. “What I mean to say is that there are many choices each day and I make them freely.”

The knot appears in his stomach.

“I made it seem it like it has no meaning,” he muses, running circles on her wrist with his finger. “I realize that. Perhaps it is awkward to mention like this, but to be honest, I’ve never had much experience with all this. Don’t get me wrong, I have… experience, but I’ve never been in a relationship that I thought to be permanent. I don’t want it to sound salacious or like I’ve ever treated someone as expendable, because I assure that has never been the case—“

“I understand.”

“There have only been… dalliances. Please don’t think that I struggle with commitment—“

“Delrin, you need to trust me to gather your meaning. I will ask if I have questions. I don’t mind talking openly.”

“Fair enough,” he smiles. “Every relationship that I’ve had, and there weren’t as many, was meant to be temporary, and that was clear for everyone involved. Whatever feelings were involved, it never went further. I’ve never courted the way a Fereldan of my birth would. I was a Templar for long, and I wasn’t forbidden to marry, but I thought it unlikely. This is new, and we have skipped many steps that would be there under the typical circumstances. I want to do it right, although I am not sure what it means or if there is a right way.”

“I don’t think there’s a right way,” she says. “I don’t mind that, and I don’t mind you telling me all this if that’s what you worry about. I tried to guess so much about you, and I hate guessing. I don’t want to guess anymore, I want to be able to talk.”

“Me too.”

“It’s all new for me, too, in every way. As you can imagine, the opportunities for a social life in the cloister were few and between.”

“Yes,” he chuckles. 

“I had tried to imagine what you would be like and what marriage would be like before I arrived here, but I can’t recall my thoughts aside from hoping for the best. Then I met you. Maybe I shouldn’t say that, but I got quite smitten on our wedding day.”

The pang of shame stirs inside his heart.

“Since the moment I saw you for the first time,” he weighs his words. “I thought you were lovely, and frankly, even amidst all the awkwardness, that’s what I’ve always thought. Honestly, after every interaction we’ve had, my affection for you kept growing. I’m grateful you have not given up on me entirely.”

“I was too cautious and a bit afraid to be direct. I thought maybe you were… _disappointed_ in the reality of it all.”

“Never,” he whispers. “Mira, I want you. I want our marriage, and I want you, in every away.”

Her eyes widen as she looks at him, and Delrin wonders if he took it too far, but then she kisses him again, deeply, pressing her entire body to him.

“I want you, too,” she breathes in between kisses, barely audibly, but he hears her anyway and his blood boils with desire.

“Uncle Delrin!” A sweet voice calls, and Mira pulls away quickly, hiding her face in his shoulder. 

“Yes, Lucille?” He glances up and sees his niece looking out of the window.

“You’re late for dinner!”

“We go a bit distracted,” he answers, unable to hide his amusement. “We’ll be right there, all right, sweet pea?”

“Hurry!” Lucille orders, disappearing momentarily.

“Sorry for that,” he turns to Mira. “I suppose this is not the most private place.”

“No,” she admits, all blushing and warmed up. “As much as I appreciate the garden all around us, perhaps after dinner we should move to our bedroom.”

“Yes,” he grins. “I would love that.”

* * *

They walk into the dining room terribly late, as it seems. This time it appears to be a family affair only. 

“Look who’s here!” Calvin exclaims.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Delrin mutters the apologies as they sit down. “We lost track of time.”

“You were busy _snogging_ ,” Lucile announces to the whole table and Mira can’t help the redness bursting on her cheeks.

“ _Lucy!_ ” Katherine shushes her daughter, gesturing nervously.

Bann Barris raises an eyebrow while lady Adriana tries to hide the curl of her smile, and Mira fights her own embarrassment. Delrin, who shows no hint of shame, places his hand on her back to show support.

There is no secret. They are married, after all. It’s not as if they try to hide. 

“What?” Lucille grimaces. “That’s what newlyweds do, mother.”

Tristan, Delrin’s nephew, hides his face in his hand while his father laughs with no restraint.

“ _Calvin!”_ Katherine hisses at her husband.

“Lucy, we ought to be discreet,” Calvin says. “It’s only polite.”

“I am sorry” the girl mutters.

“It’s all right, sweet pea,” Delrin reassures her.

“Let’s finally eat,” lady Adriana says, “and enjoy the family dinner.”

 _Family_. 

An ordinary word that until now has described the largest void in her heart. Nothing will fill that void, nothing could, but there’s something new growing instead. It’s fresh and delicate, and _good_.

The dessert is served in the sitting room, and for the first time Mira sees everyone so comfortable and casual. Bann Barris plays chess with his grandson, and by the look of it, he seems to be losing. Calvin chats with Lucille, while Katherine and lady Adriana discuss social plans for the rest of the summer. 

Delrin sits right next to her, his arm across her shoulder, touching her with a brush of his fingers. It’s such a benign caress, so small and innocent. It has no right to make her feel as warm and mellow, but it does. They are together, and it surprises no one. It wouldn’t change any genuineness of her emotions, but Mira takes it as the family’s acceptance of her place here.

Perhaps, despite everything, she fits in. 

She glances at Delrin, who immediately turns towards her. He’s more relaxed today, and she would even dare to say that he seems… happy. A smile lights up his face and he kisses her forehead with no hesitation. 

Mira places her hand just above his knee, because she can, because he’s her husband. His breathing changes for a split second, enough for her to notice.

“Would you like to,” he whispers, voice silky with promise, “go somewhere private?”

“Yes,” she replies as her throat dries.

It’s not only nervousness, but Mira can’t deny that she feels nervous as they walk to their bedroom. She recalls the wedding night, and then other occasions when she felt ignored, but now Delrin is by her side, holding her hand. His grip is gentle, but confident and secure. He has been more confident than ever before, and she can’t help but wonder what it means for tonight.

They talk little, moving up the stairs and past the corridors, but this time, the silence appears more comfortable than oppressive.

The bedroom is soaked in darkness, but before either of them moves to light up the candle, Delrin pulls her close into a sweet kiss. His hand touches her waist, his body is close, and she senses his strength and tenderness alike. It leaves her breathless; it makes her need spike; it seduces her with the unknown and the familiar alike. She grasps his shirt, closer, _closer_ , stepping onto her toes to deepen the kiss, to taste more of him.

There’s only a sound of their breaths and Delrin’s eyes blazing through the night. 

“What happens now?” She asks, not out of blushing innocence, but because she can’t let it remain unsaid, not anymore.

“Whatever we want.”

“Do we make love?”

Delrin stands right in front of her. She rests her chin on his sternum. He feels hot to the touch, and he looks straight at her. 

“Would you like to?”

The slightest pause prevails, not because she doesn’t, but—

“Mira,” he murmurs. “There is never any obligation. You don’t need to decide now. We could head to bed, and kiss and cuddle, and go to sleep. We could explore more. We can always slow down or stop if it’s too much. I’m just happy to be with you.”

“Would _you_ like to make love with me?”

It is a needy question, but the prickle of insecurity lingers.

“Yes,” he says.

 _Yes_. 

He doesn’t need to add anything else. There is no bargaining, no plea in his voice, nothing to convince her one way or another. Still, he gives her a straightforward answer. Delrin is bolder tonight, but no less careful, and she trusts him to share her desire, to open up to him. It’s not only curiosity or attraction, but more. An affection that grows, wrapped in a promise and hope. _More_.

“I’d like to see how it goes,” she breathes, and he smiles at her words.

* * *

The water falls on Delrin, and he thinks of Mira and the wet shirt clinging to her body, and then of her in their bed, waiting for him. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen tonight, she’s waiting for him _,_ and she wants to be with him, and _she chooses him_.

Is he nervous? He thinks back to their wedding night and imagines how she must have felt. Tonight is different.

Delrin aims not to repeat his mistakes. There is no place for ambiguity that could lead to miscommunication. They talked already, about expectations, about how they prefer to wait when it comes to children until they settle in their marriage and until they know what the war brings in the next few months. About her inexperience. Mira even asked if there was any particular negligee he’d like to see her in. Funny how everything falls into place when they are open with each other.

Whatever they don’t know yet, they will discover. 

His heart is not unmoved, quite the contrary, it faces all the parts fragile and tender. One day, sooner than later, he will look at her and realize that there is no one in the world who’d know him better.

Perhaps in any other scenario, it would be too soon to commit so fiercely, but how can anything be too soon when they are already wed? They have already committed, so why would they not seek solace, and intimacy, and respite within each other? 

Mira sits on the bed in a pink nightgown, watching him step out of the bathroom and come closer.

Delrin no longer knows what he had imagined when he offered to propose marriage for the sake of the war, but now he gets lost in the intensity of the moment looking at his wife to whom he gladly gives all of himself. 

Damn the truce, damn the war, damn all the reasons why she came here. Now he knows Mira, and he wants _her_. 

He remembers that negligee, and the morning when he found her so lovely, and yet none of that compares to what he’s feeling now.

Tonight, he’s not averting his eyes, not at all.

“Hi there,” Mira says, sounding a bit nervous.

She probably is, and to be honest, so is he. Everything has changed quickly, and the air between them is thick and heavy. He could ask whether she prefers to extinguish the candles, but she looks so beautiful cast in the golden light and he wants to see her clearly if he can. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, smiling a bit as his gaze travels down Mira’s face, and neck, and her cleavage, and the thin fabric covering her body. “You look… ravishing.”

The scent of herbal soap teases him when Mira brings herself closer, leaning for a kiss. He strokes her neck, he trails his fingers to her shoulders, feeling the naked skin, warmed up already, and then he lowers his hand onto the silky soft negligee. 

Mira lies down on her back, nudging him to follow. Her hands are impatient, even though she has yet to touch him anywhere but his arm.

Maker, those lips, her lips that he can’t get enough of, that he might never stop kissing.

Delrin settles on his side, enough to have her underneath but not to crush her. His knee lands between her thighs. Her hands move to massage his scalp, tugging on the patch of hair on top of his head. It’s gentle, and caring, and he likes the sensation, but there’s some deeper need behind it, as if Mira _craves_ him. 

“You look pretty ravishing yourself if I may say so,” she whispers when he pulls away from a moment. 

Her eyes are hazed with desire, and Delrin laughs happily, lowering his face, brushing his mouth against her neck.

“Is this all right?” He asks.

“Yes,” she sighs, holding onto him and closing her eyes.

 _Yes._ He teases her a little, placing soft kisses along her jawline and lower. Her scent is intoxicating, warm and tangy, and he dares to lick the skin on her throat.

“ _Oh,_ ” Mira moans.

She’s so responsive, clenching her thighs on his leg, shifting closer, as if to trap him in her embrace. Well, he is not going anywhere, and he’ll gladly spend the whole night doing this.

* * *

The intensity of excitement almost startles her, but Mira takes a leap and allows it to carry her further. The desire rises wave after wave with each kiss and each touch of his hands, but as much as she does not want it to stop, she wants to learn him as well.

She studies the lines of his muscles underneath the linen tunic, but it’s not enough. Nothing seems enough. _More_ , she needs more. She feels his hardness on her thigh, but this time Delrin doesn’t move away. They match each other in yearning.

“Delrin,” she grabs his shirt and pulls on it, “can you take it off?”

“Yes.”

The pleasant anticipation spreads, and she watches how eagerly he obeys her request. He raises up to kneel, and he removes the white tunic in one swift motion, hurrying to kiss her again.

Mira doesn’t let him. Instead, she puts her palm straight on his bare chest, and he stops, fixing his gaze on her face. He’s careful, she realizes. He’s careful to watch her, to ask, to ensure she enjoys it.

Oh, but she does.

“May I,” she whispers, flooded with tenderness, “explore you a little?”

“ _Please_ ,” he says, and she loves the hint of begging in his voice.

She traces her fingers across his torso, feeling the smooth skin and the scarred tissue alike. Stories are written into those battle scars, of wins and losses and near misses, a peculiar and inherent combination of strength and fragility. 

“You’re not surprised to see them,” he muses, bringing up his hands to caress the sides of her body.

“No. I’ve seen many wounds, even before the infirmary,” she leans in, kissing his shoulder and the scar left by a burn. “Not quite like this, though.”

He’s gorgeous, that husband of hers. Funny how she has always thought that, but now it is transformed by all the emotions in her heart. His body is fit, and a pleasure to look at, but there’s more. She kisses him inch by inch, she touches him inch by inch, and he trembles underneath all her caresses. His heart might beat faster, his blood pulse quicker. She knows him already, in more ways than one. It has been such a short time, with so much understated, but she knows a thing or two, and now she learns more. 

Delrin is so mindful to be gentle and sweet, and she suspects he craves the same sweetness in return. There’s not enough softness in a soldier’s life. Truthfully, there’s not enough softness in most lives.

It’s bizarre. What hits her is not just the dreamy and dizzying arousal, but also protectiveness. He might be quiet at times, and very proper. She can already tell he rarely complains. Maker blessed him with a calm disposition, easy to overlook. Composed, responsible, honorable.

Hers to care for.

“You’re… _beautiful_ ,” she smiles, inhaling his scent. “Is it odd to say to a man? I don’t think it’s odd.”

“No,” he breathes. “I rather like it.”

His hands travel down her sides, caressing the outer part of her thighs. He’s patient, he’s restraining. He’s waiting for her, not because he’s hesitant, but not to rush her when she keeps discovering him so diligently. 

_Very_ diligently.

Her fingers stop on the line of his breeches, teasing it.

“Can I touch your…?”

“My cock?” He offers, not hiding his smile, but always so gallant. So proper.

“Your cock,” she repeats with no hint of shyness. 

“Mira,” he rasps, “you can do whatever you want with me.”

He helps her untie his breeches, and when she finally touches him, delicately at first, he gasps and licks his mouth. 

“Your cock feels so nice,” she murmurs, stroking him to see the reaction. “So… silky.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, and somehow it just stirs her desire ever more.

_Hmm._

Not so proper now. 

His lips crash into hers, and there’s a plea in how hungry that kiss is, but whatever plea it is, Mira will say yes, because every part of her wants this, wants _him._

“Let me explore you. Please, let me explore you.”

“Yes,” she rushes to get off the bed.

It’s a bit clumsy, but she does not care. Somehow, however clumsy tonight is, nothing can extinguish that flame of need. Delrin quickly kicks off his pulled down breeches while she slides down her underpants first. Suddenly, he’s sitting at the edge of the bed and she’s standing, catching his eyes on her.

“I have barely touched you tonight,” he says, and she can’t tell if it’s a complaint or a promise or neither or both.

“You will,” she dares, burning under his gaze. “Don’t you want to see me first?”

“ _Yes._ ”

She takes off her negligee unceremonially. It falls down near her ankles, and she moves her feet to push it aside.

Delrin stares at her, transfixed. 

All of a sudden, she is more naked than a second before. Exposed and aware of her own vulnerability.

“Mira,” he touches her so lightly, running just one finger across her hip, “you truly take my breath away.”

It’s not just vulnerability, but power alike to be looked at like that.

Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s just truth and closeness. 

“Come here,” he grins.

Mira gives him her hand, and then he pulls her into his lap, into his warmth.

* * *

Mira trembles. She trembles when she lies down; she trembles when he kisses her. Her entire body sings with need when he runs his hands on her. Maker preserve him, she is divine to touch, soft and wonderful. 

Delrin can’t stop looking at her. _All of her_. It’s not a dream. Not an accidental glimpse of her beauty to make him feel guilty afterwards. It’s real, and he’s feasting on the view of his gorgeous wife who smiles to him, who encourages him, who so obviously wants him. He has no doubt about it.

Her fingers dig into his shoulder when he moves down to her breasts, kissing them, caressing them, licking them, and Mira writhes a bit, letting out sweet moans.

She’s so warm, as if there is a fire inside and he keeps adding to it.

“ _Delrin_ ,” she sighs.

“You’re even more beautiful than I could have imagined,” he says in awe. 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he confirms ardently, placing his hand on the inside on her knee, stroking it.

Sweet Andraste, Mira parts her legs with no hesitation. She desires him; she chooses him; she trusts him.

Her breath hitches when he runs his fingers upwards. Slowly, slowly. He watches her close her eyes and bite on her lip. _Yes_.

 _Fuck_. Even as he barely brushes the red curls between her thighs, he can feel how drenched she is. 

“Do you like me?” She asks softly.

_Oh._

The question strikes him straight in the heart, and Delrin freezes. _How_ could she not know, _why_ —

He collects himself right away, thankfully, before he has a chance to pull away. Now he rests his hand on her thigh and shifts to look her in the eyes.

It is not about him. It’s not a call to withdraw. Perhaps Mira simply needs to hear it, especially when they are like this, closer than ever, almost as close as possible.

“ _Yes_ ,” he whispers. “I care about you. There’s nobody else I’d rather be with, only you. There’s no place I’d rather be at, only here. I know it’s the beginning, but you are the most important person in my life.”

“Delrin,” she whispers back. “I truly care about you.”

He knows. He gently kisses her lips. 

“Touch me,” she pleads. “Please.”

Maker, she is wet. His cock aches just at the thought of being inside of her. No. Not now. 

“How would you like me to touch you?”

“I—,” Mira frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I usually—I don’t know, can you choose?”

“May I,” he lowers his face to nibble on her earlobe, “please you with my mouth?”

“Y-yes,” she gasps, and then she glances at him. “Will you enjoy it?”

“Oh, Mira,” he laughs. “I bet you are delicious.”

The little whimper she lets out in response could not be more enticing. _Yes_.

He kisses her body, shifting down. Mira lifts her head to look at him, face and cleavage flushed, eyes glimmering.

“Please, tell me when I do something you don’t enjoy or you’d like me to do something you think you’d like.”

“I’ll try.”

“Feel free to caress my head if you’d like.”

“Mhm.”

“And,” he smirks at her. “Nobody will hear us. Make any sounds you’d like. Believe me, I will love it.”

“All right,” she grins. 

As much as this is new, and truthfully, in some sense this is new for both of them, she seems remarkably comfortable right now. _Good._

He stares at her face; she stares at him as he moves his lips down her soft stomach. It’s only when he settles his arms across her thighs and breathes in her wonderful scent that she tilts her had back.

She tastes of yearning. Delrin’s blood pounds with want. He feels every jolt of her hips, every tremble in the warm skin of her thighs, he hears every sounds she makes. Her hand lands on his head, gentle and hesitant and first, but then she scrapes his scalp just her fingertips, and he groans with approval. 

Delicious, indeed.

* * *

The pleasure feels bright.

Better than before. Maker, how does it feel better than her own fingers? It does. Somehow it does, and while her first moans were more conscious, now Mira can’t stifle the sounds that escape her lips. The pleasure coils and tightens, and she almost can’t bear it, except she can, and she wants to. 

It’s so good, better than good. It’s brilliant, and all the rambling thoughts blur and senses sharpen and the feeling grows and grows.

Delrin groans when she runs her fingers on his head. He sounds pleased, and that makes her burn even brighter.

Mira screams when the pleasure spills over with no mercy. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes. “It was… incredible. Sorry, I sounded so—“

“Sensual? Already my favorite sound,” Delrin says, looking at her with such devotion that she can’t help but to smile. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes!” she laughs, pulling him closer until his body presses against her and his lips are on hers.

All the nudity, new not so long ago, now feels domestic, and Mira touches him with no reservation.

He’s still careful, but his hands move on her body with more ease as well, and more urgency.

“How do you feel?” He asks between kisses.

There’s no denying that she’s completely smitten. More so, maybe. There’s so much care in his voice, even when he’s shaking out of desire. She wants more; she wants to see him lose himself in her. 

“I want you inside of me,” she whispers, and he moans in response. “Do you want—“

“ _Yes_ , _please_. Would you like to be on top or do you prefer this or—?”

“This for now?”

“Sure,” he kisses her quickly, and now there’s some rush in his movements. It delights her to see him like that, unrestrained and impatient.

The romance novels never mention all the things that happen in between the heavy breaths and sighs, like fetching a towel to put on the sheets, or the pillow to raise her hips. All the awkwardness that somehow does not take any of her want away and certainly does not seem to impact his.

“Are you ready?” Delrin looks at her with so much eagerness.

“Yes.”

“Tell me if something doesn’t feel right. I’ll be very gentle,” he assures her as he sets himself between her legs.

Mira knows that. The tenderness never leaves him.

The sensation perplexes her. She’s more than ready, and there’s no pain, but the blunt pressure feels foreign and odd, and it sobers up some of the desire. 

All this time, Delrin studies her face and touches her body. She lifts her hips a little and hooks her feet on the small of his back. It urges him deeper, but it feels better.

He doesn’t move, only leans in to kiss her. Maker, he is so tall, but somehow this works out between them. She runs her hands on his shoulders and arms, and she eases into the feeling.

His thumb caresses her cheek, and he looks at her, really looks at her, and somehow Mira is certain that he sees all that he should.

She has never been this close with anyone, ever. Not merely because of sex, but everything between them, every emotion, every confession. Everything.

“Husband,” she whispers, looking into his handsome face, into those sweet, kind eyes, feeling his body close to her, in her. 

The words don’t startle him. Instead, he just smiles.

“Wife,” he says.

 _This_ they both choose. 

Mira grinds against him, and he moans and glances down at the place where their bodies join and then back at her, and the look on his face is unmistakable.

He loves this.

“You can move,” she encourages him.

Delrin listens. His thrusts are gentle, and Mira finds the rhythm to match him. The way he snaps his hips rubs all the right places, and it starts feeling good.

The sensations take over, mesmerizing her with that vivid intimacy, and his warmth covers her. It’s sharp and sweet all over, and she has never felt more present, more anchored in the moment, and all this, she shares with him. 

They are making love.

* * *

It’s blissful. 

Mira’s thighs wrap around his hips, and she slowly moves with him. She’s so hot inside, so wet, so wonderful. The sounds of their lovemaking fill the bedroom alongside their moans, and Delrin loses himself in her.

It’s slow and perfect. He can feel her hand at the junction of their bodies. She doesn’t need a lot of encouragement, and there’s something incredibly sensual in how much she seems to enjoy herself. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, seeing the redness on her skin, her messed up curls and the tinge of sweet on her forehead.

Her curves jiggle with his thrusts and he couldn’t be more turned on. 

“ _Delrin,_ ” his name escapes her lips, and even though he paces himself, he’s reaching his limit.

 _Fuck_.

“Mira,” he manages. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“That’s fine,” Mira says softly, raising hers arms to embrace him, to be closer.

Her breath tickles his throat when the white-hot pleasure hits him as he spills inside of her.

He doesn’t even move when she places sweet kisses on his neck.

“ _Mira,_ ” Delrin whispers, lifting up head to look into those gorgeous blue eyes, still filled with desire.

“That was lovely,” she runs her fingers on his stubble, “I loved it.”

The sudden grip of emotion surprises him, and he captures her mouth rather than say anything. 

“I loved it too,” he finally remarks, withdrawing from her with a groan and laying on the side. “You know, just because I finished doesn’t mean we have to be done.”

“ _Really_?” She gasps with so much playfulness in her voice that he grins.

“ _Really._ ”

This time Delrin focuses entirely on Mira and every whimper, every frown, every sigh, every moan, every shiver as she slowly comes undone on his fingers. 

She laughs afterwards, clinging to him. It’s the most gorgeous laughter imaginable, warm and satisfied. 

They have found each other at last, and it’s just the beginning. 

There is more to come, and he looks forward to all of it, together.

* * *

Even after washing up, they stay naked, and it doesn’t cease to amaze Mira how much she enjoys the feel of his skin on hers. Delrin has so much affection to give. He cuddles her from behind, and she feels safe and cared for.

Her heart is wide open. It terrifies her. 

“I’m not used to having anyone to care about me,” she says, and it sounds pathetic and weak. 

But he’s her husband, and she’s giving him as much as possible, so maybe he can take her pathetic and weak, too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tightening his embrace. “It’s not right. I’m sorry you’ve been so alone. It doesn’t make up for the past, but this is your home. I care about you. My family cares about you. I know it doesn’t take away the struggles. I know Ferelden has been unkind in many ways, but we’re together, and you’re not alone.”

Few tears fall down her cheeks, and Mira feels embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I don’t mean to put a damper on the evening. I just… feel a lot.”

“ _Mira,_ ” he sighs, but he doesn’t sound impatient. “Tonight has been incredible, and I want all of you. All that you feel.”

She turns around to hug him, to hide her face in the crook of her neck. Delrin holds her, gently caressing her back and kissing her forehead.

“I don’t know what I thought it would be,” she finally says. “But it’s more.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “And I feel so happy.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. I think we will be very happy together.”

Everything she has ever dreamed of is now within the realm of possibility. 

“I think so too,” she allows herself to say it out loud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter :)
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, you truly have been amazing and I can't tell you how much it means to me, especially in times like these. I appreciate it all.


	10. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin and Mira enjoy their honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, explicit.
> 
> There's an embarrassing amount of sex in this chapter, but hey - it's a honeymoon.

It’s not a dream.

Delrin feels Mira’s presence before even opening his eyes. Her naked body, right next to him, warmed up from sleep. He looks at her. The gentle light of an early morning, diffused by the curtains, enters their bedroom and he marvels at the serene image in front of him, wishing to etch it in his memory.

He doesn’t want to disturb her, not really.

Mira wakes up anyway; as if his thoughts roused her.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi.”

Suddenly, her lips brush against his and he inhales her scent as she draws him for a kiss. Her nipples rub against his chest, his cock is more than ready, and Delrin tries not to be greedy. He really does.

“I had the nicest dream,” she breathes in the same needy voice as last night, digging into his back, pulling him closer.

“Yes?” He asks. 

“ _Yes,_ ” the sweetest answer reaches him.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and Delrin snakes his hand between her thighs. Mira rocks herself to orgasm on his fingers, moaning into his mouth, murmuring his name, clinging to him. Yes, she nudges him when he asks her to turn around. Yes, he says, burying himself in her heat, kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. Her hair, smelling of herbs, gets into his face. She rolls her hips with him, grabbing his arse to urge him deeper and deeper until he comes and the world bursts with pleasure.

Mhm, perhaps he can be greedy. Mira is.

“Good morning,” she smiles when he shifts away and rests in pure bliss.

“Good morning, indeed,” Delrin laughs, bringing her hand to his lips. “I wish I could stay with you the whole day, but I need to go soon.”

“I know,” she says, covering her yawn. “I might sleep a bit more after you leave. It’s all quite exhausting.”

“Is that a complaint?” He teases.

“Contrary. A compliment.”

Sweet Andraste, he really doesn’t want to get up, not when her lips are so sweet, but he must. Despite all the rush, the sight of Mira basked in the afterglow distracts him more than once, and he goes back for that final goodbye kiss several times. 

For the first time in ages, Delrin is late for the morning drill.

“You look like the cat that got the cream,” Bull comments several hours later when they watch the soldiers spar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah,” he pats his shoulder. “Does it offend your Fereldan sensibility? The dog that got the bone, then.”

He half-glares, half-smirks, shaking his head.

“I don’t mean to be crude,” Bull chuckles. “I am glad you found a common tongue with your wife.”

They did.

“You were right,” he sighs. “Thank you for that.”

“That’s what friendship for. Would you like to spar at the end of practice? I’ll go easy on you, keep you pretty, and save your stamina.”

“My stamina is just fine. You’re getting old, anyway.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for your wife,” Bull laughs. “Who apparently can’t get enough of you.”

He turns around and sees Mira walking up to the training grounds. She smiles when their eyes meet, and even her eyes are laughing.

“It seems you’ve earned that smile,” his friend remarks, not without warmth in his voice.

Has he?

Sweet Andraste, whether he has or has not, Mira smiles anyway.

* * *

“Well,” Cassandra walks up to her when Mira watches Bull and Delrin spar. “I don’t think you can claim that your husband is displeased with your company.”

Oh, he is very pleased, indeed.

“It appears I was mistaken,” she smirks and turns red at Cassandra’s big grin.

“And here I was, asking if you needed more romance novels.”

“I won’t say no, although I have less time to read,” Mira replies.

“I’m happy for you,” Cassandra looks at her. “Truly. I know nothing makes up for the role you’ve been forced into throughout all this, but I am so glad you found something good.”

“I always wanted to leave Hasmal, in a different circumstance, mind you. I am not sure I even believe in miracles. Thankfully Mother Reverend can’t hear me. I don’t believe in fate. I believe in opportunities, and willingness to seek them. I’m still surprised to have found as much. I want to stay with him. There’s freedom in that, and I don’t argue with my heart.”

“Do you really not believe in miracles?”

“I don’t know. It is easy to claim holy justification. I suppose that’s not truly me. What about you?”

“I do believe,” Cassandra says. “You’d think after everything I’d have doubts. I suppose I do, but none of those shake my faith.”

“You’re principled, but not legalistic. I like that about you.”

“It all stems from the spirit, not just the law,” Cassandra laughs. “I’m glad at least you see it.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“There’s a dwarf… One day you’ll meet him and I’ll need you to vouch for my character.”

“I don’t know if being vouched for by the daughter of Voivode Surma will bring the desired outcome, but I shall do it whenever you need,” Mira teases.

“You truly are in a good mood today.”

“I got a good night’s rest,” Mira replies, blushing furiously.

Cassandra raises her eyebrows and laughs.

* * *

The closeness is mesmerizing, with Mira cuddling up to him the second Delrin comes to bed. He adores the softness of her supple curves and how wonderful it is to hold her, especially when she’s clinging to him so eagerly.

“I didn’t get to do it long enough in the morning,” he whispers.

“We have all the time now.”

Indeed. The night is young and full of promise.

“I liked that you came to the training grounds,” he remarks, playing with locks of her hair. “You must have missed me.”

She has the most beautiful laughter.

“I came to see Cassandra,” she taps his chest. “I admit though, it was rather nice to watch you sweat there.”

Why does this feel so good? But it does.

“You enjoy me in the armor?”

“Far better without,” Mira murmurs, pressing closer. “You’re very sweet, you know that? Sweeter than I thought you’d be.”

Delrin smiles, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing her fingertips, one by one, placing the final peck on the wedding ring.

“I like being sweet, and now I know I can be. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything. I told you that already.”

“When we met, you said that it wasn’t difficult to leave home, but I wonder sometimes whether you miss Hasmal or how do you find yourself in Ferelden. I still remember you talking about Hasmali poetry. I wish to know what has meaning to you. Perhaps there are things we could get for you or do for you.”

He can feel her body tensing and then relax again.

“I don’t know how to even begin to answer that. I want to share with you, but I am not sure I know how.”

“Your grandmother was Fereldan, right? Her maiden name was Estney, as far as I recall.”

“Yes. Elza Surma after marriage. Her given name was Elizabeth. She died when my father was young, so I’ve never met her. He’s only ever said that she was a good woman. Who knows what he meant by that. His ideas on what makes women good are quite limited. I don’t know much about her except that she was a redhead like him and me.”

“I like your red hair, _everywhere._ ”

Her cheeks turn crimson and she giggles.

“Are you seducing me now? I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Forgive me,” Delrin laughs. “Seduction shall wait.”

“You have to understand,” Mira explains. “In Hasmal, women have fewer freedoms than here. There are exceptions, like warriors or heads of the family, but I’ve learned that exceptions do not challenge the rules nearly a much as you’d think. When a woman marries, it is assumed she takes on her husband’s identity. It’s more than a formality. There’s expectation that it will become a part of her. That is also a reason why I could never go back to Hasmal.”

“Because you’d be seen as Fereldan?”

“That is a polite way of saying it, but yes. You… made me yours. I would be seen as yours, and there’s no coming back from it. Especially given who are you.”

“A dog lord?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Now imagine what that makes me.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s not about what I do. There’s no act of treason. It’s the inevitable fact of life. You claimed me like a piece of land. That’s how they see it. I’m exaggerating, but perhaps less than you think.”

“That is… disturbing.”

“It is,” she sighs. “Believe me, I’m aware. I’m aware it’s not the same in Ferelden, although sometimes I almost wish for it. To not be seen as who I am. I don’t know what it means to be Hasmali without being my father’s daughter. There are fragments. The poems I like, the words I hold dear, the flavors of nostalgia, the music that makes me weep, the scents of the fields and the sight of the stork’s nest on the roof of the house next to the cloister. For the first time in my entire life I can speak freely, and yet there’s no one here who would understand if I spoke my native tongue. It’s a loss. I didn’t expect it to hurt. Truthfully, I don’t think I even know Hasmal. What you hear in stories about swoboda, our freedom and the vast steppe has never existed for me. I am not sure it exists for anyone, and yet part of me misses it.”

Her eyes glisten with emotion, looking at him so intently as if he could give an adequate answer, even though they both know it to be impossible. Nothing he could say would be adequate, and Delrin understands that sweetness and peace between them do not make up for the fractures in her heart.

“I am so sorry, honey,” he murmurs, standing at the bridge of his own inadequacy to provide and soothe someone to whom he had promised home.

All he can do is to be here, and listen, and care.

“I miss some foods,” she admits with a hint of embarrassment. “Although Fereldan cuisine is better than I anticipated.”

“Mistress Karla would be very glad to hear that. I can send requests to the kitchen for the things you’d like.”

“I don’t think I can request anything,” she breathes. “Even if I wanted to.”

“Of course you can,” he insists.

“How does it sound if I go to the kitchen and request the cook to prepare food from the place they… you… we are at war with?”

The words fall on him, heavy like stones. They are not at war with Hasmal now, but it is an interlude, and it seems Mira realizes it. She probably has realized it from the start.

She’s wrong about it, Delrin thinks, but a part of him recognizes that none of it is simple.

“My father has killed many people,” she continues. “Not merely during the battle, but his own people, other Hasmali. I don’t remember not knowing. There wasn’t one moment when I found out the truth. The layers had been peeling for a while. I think… I think some people ask themselves how could I have stayed silent. Sometimes I feel wrong just by existing. You can’t rebel against someone like my father. Not as someone like me. It is not because he is scary, although he can be. It is because he doesn’t listen. I don’t think he has ever cared what I truly think, and he could always control what I would do. What good would my rebellion bring if innocent people died for my words? And yet I know there are people who think of me or rather think of the facelessness and nameless daughter of voivode Surma and wish me to die for all their loved ones he took away. I have tried to do things that would mean something in this world. Take away some pain. Help. I know there’s no scale to measure, but it is disheartening how easy it is to ruin lives and how many my father can condemn to death on behalf of knyaz in comparison to how precious and difficult it is for one wound to heal. I need you to know that I think about it. There are things I miss, but I am not sure if I am have any right to miss them, not to mention requesting them. I can’t subtract much from the pain my father has caused, but at the very least I wish not to add to it.”

There is so much he wishes to say and to do, faced with the rawness of all those outpouring feelings about her heritage, family and home. He has faced the weight of his own complacency regarding the Templars, but he left and he joined the Inquisition and it almost washes the past away.

It is not the same. What Mira carries is harder to shed. Impossible, and there are also parts she holds dear.

“I wish only to be honest, so I am not sure what to say. You are not to blame because of the family you were born to, but I can imagine why you’d say that this is not enough. Mira, this is your home, and I only wish for you to be happy. I don’t want you to hide yourself.”

“I’m not hiding,” she dips her fingers into his chest. “I’m telling you everything. It’s not hiding that I don’t want to ask the kitchen for familiar foods. I appreciate you saying all this. I will give some thought to requests I can make. Right now, I am good here.”

“All right,” he relents, studying her face.

Is there more?

“Do you… look past who my father is? Forget it sometimes?”

It seems that the question costs Mira a great deal, because he can see the quiver of her mouth.

“No,” he says. “There is nothing to look past. I never forget where you are from or who your father is, because it is you. It has no bearing on how I view you and my feelings for you, and all the things I wish for our future. You are not tainted, Mira. There is no part of you that I need to look past. I see you as you are, and you are wonderful.”

“Kiss me,” she asks in a cracked voice.

He does. Of course he does, gently and sweetly, and then he kisses away the salty tears escaping onto her cheeks. She finds his lips again, easing into his body, covering him with affection.

“I don’t hide from you,” she whispers. “I hold nothing back.”

“I know.”

* * *

His touch feels safe. It always does; warm, and caring, and cozy, letting her rest. It is the most precious thing, and Mira loves every moment of it. Every breath, every sigh, every little whisper is freely given and true. Delrin’s rich brown skin glows in the candlelight and he closes his eyes as she kisses his neck.

“I want to please you,” she murmurs, watching his face.

He curls his lips in that sexy half-smile she already adores.

“You do please me.”

“With my mouth,” she clarifies.

“Really?” He looks at her for confirmation, or maybe because he’d like to hear her say it again.

“Really.”

It is an entirely new sensation, and all her focus is on Delrin. It’s nicer that Mira had assumed, and his moans filling the bedroom make her body tense with need, especially when he praises her, caressing her cheek. There is something intoxicating about her husband surrendering to pleasure she is giving him. He warns her, getting nearer and nearer to the edge, but she tells him softly that she wants to find out how that feels, too. Her name is on his lips as he comes, and her heart paces with emotion when she slowly moves her body to kiss him.

Then he whispers things that make her blush and yet feel wonderful. He buries his face between her thighs again and devours her, as if no amount of her taste would ever be enough, as if there was nothing in the world but her.

At the end, Mira laughs out of joy.

“What are you doing to me?” Delrin mutters. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen when people marry?” She giggles, turning to her side and kissing his neck.

Delrin rolls over and she wraps her arm around his waist, pressing her naked body to his back. Her free hand massages his scalp, and she hears little purrs he makes.

“Do you like that?” She asks, rejoicing in the feel of his warm, strong body.

“Yes,” he says dreamily.

“Me too. Would you like to hear the story? It’s from Hasmal and it’s rather sad, but it can show you something about the way I grew up more than father Genitivi’s books.”

“Sure,” he chuckles. “I would love the story. I love hearing you talk.”

She snorts at the remark, but then something tender fills her heart. No one has said it before.

“I don’t know how familiar you are with the Hasmali history. Hasmal has always been surrounded by nations more powerful than itself. Good knyaz Stefan decided to give away his only daughter, Dobrava, to marry the youngest son of Nevarran king Augustus. Dobrava left Hasmal to live with her husband. Few months of peace passed, and Stefan died, leading to the possible tensions surrounding the throne. Not everyone was keen on the eldest of Stefan’s sons, prince Miron, famed for his bad temper. No resolution would come before the funeral and the wake, and as you’ve probably heard, Hasmali wakes are feasts. Dobrava came for the funeral with her husband, prince Aurelius. Right after the wake, Miron’s guard killed all their people and imprisoned them both. The tale says that Miron was afraid that Dobrava’s bloodline could lead to Nevarra laying the claim to the Hasmali throne. It had been several months since the wedding, so Dobrava was rumored to be pregnant. Miron maintained that he rescued his sister from an unwanted marriage, and that he would send Aurelius back if Nevarra annulled the union through official Chantry channels. Otherwise, he would find Aurelius guilty of the crimes on his sister and execute him.”

“I think I can guess what happened.”

“Yes, Nevarrans were too late, or perhaps Miron had never intended to keep his bargain. He killed Aurelius. We don’t know what Dobrava was thinking at the time. There is no journal or letters saved from her imprisonment. What we know is that prince Miron entered her her quarters and never returned alive.”

“What happened?” Delrin rolls back to look at Mira’s face.

“Dobrava stabbed her brother in the throat twenty-eight times, using a sharpened hairpin. Each stab for each day she was separated from her husband. The royal guard killed her afterwards.”

“That is sad,” he says, gazing into her eyes.

“The Hasmali history is not kind to her. She’s a traitorous princess who let the enemy seduce her and turn away from her country. Later on it became apparent that Miron had hastened the death of his father, knyaz Stefan. It seems that greed and lust after power can be forgiven, but Dobrava betrayed not just the throne or her brother, but her culture, her language, the tradition. You know, all the accounts say that Dobrava was fond of her husband, and yet, so rarely anyone considers that she wasn’t fickle or treacherous or ungrateful, but protective, caring and strong. They shame her for her heart.”

“I think she was protective, caring and strong,” he whispers, reaching to caress her cheek. “They are wrong.”

Mira is not fickle, she knows it. Years of solitude have shaped her heart to know who she is. Even when parts of her identity crumble and fall to the ground, much remains. She was born on a different soil, but her roots are strong enough for transplant. Something will wither, and much will be lost, but she will survive.

“I am not ashamed,” she kisses Delrin and straddles him, feeling his hardness underneath her and his hands digging into her flesh. “I couldn’t choose you, but I give with no reservation. I want to stay here with you.”

“Mira, I give you all that I am, I swear,” he breathes when she rubs herself on the tip of his cock, “Fuck, please, ride me, _please._ ”

She slowly sinks herself onto his length. His pupils are so wide that his eyes appear almost black. It takes a moment to catch her rhythm with the soft mattress underneath her knees, but when she does, she rides him indeed, rolling her hips and grinding against him, watching the delight on his face. Delrin presses his thumb against her clitoris, and the pleasure builds up so fast. The fire burns her skin. He grabs her arse, she sinks her fingers into his chest.

It is the first time Mira comes with him inside, whimpering. She lowers her body. Close, closer, until their lips almost meet and she’s able to kiss him right after his orgasm.

“Don’t move yet,” he pleads.

She doesn’t. Instead, they just look at each other for a moment, joined in the closest way possible.

* * *

Time is a peculiar thing. It passes as usual when Delrin attends the morning practice and the meetings; it stops turning when he is with Mira during their most intimate moments and nothing else exists, but then the time seems to have flied by when they need to part again.

Three days since they made love for the first time. Three days of exquisite exploration. Long, honey-sweet evenings followed by late-night conversations and then hurried mornings, no less wonderful. Each day, he learns more about Mira in every way imaginable. He maps her body with his mouth and fingers, finding all the spots to treasure and all the places to leave her breathless. They talk, slipping into more and more familiarity as he discovers all the timbres of her voice when she shifts from seriousness to amusement. He even makes her cry out of laughter one time. Her nose wrinkles, and she kicks her legs. There is nothing to stop the strikes of tenderness, no shield to hide behind. He lets himself be unarmed, exposed, true. Truer than ever. Mira sees it all, and she covers him with warmth.

His heart is trapped, but he feels no fear, only peace.

He rushes back to the castle for luncheon. There is not much to do besides training until they receive further orders. It is a precarious standstill, but he welcomes the respite.

Mira greets him with the brightest of her smiles, the one he thinks might be reserved only for him.

“Hi, honey,” he says without thinking, and she flusters from that endearment. “Can I call you that?”

“Of course you can,” she stands on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“I have couple hours until the command meeting. I want to change my clothes after luncheon, but then we could head for a walk in the gardens?”

He catches his mother’s smirk when they head to the dining room. His parents were worried, wishing for his happiness, but now he finds it, hour after hour.

There is no way to tell how the flirting begins and who initiates it. A touch of hand during the meal, a tap on the shoulder, a little whisper that all grow bolder. Suddenly Delrin’s gaze follows Mira’s fingers that brush against the skin of her cleavage, barely perceptible, but he notices. Suddenly he cleans the speckle of cream from the corner of her mouth and tastes it off his thumb. Suddenly she drops the napkin, distracted, but then grips his thigh as they both look underneath the table and he reaches to get it for her. It’s all very proper, nonetheless.

They arrive at their quarters, and Mira looks at him, and he looks at her, and then they drown in the most passionate kiss.

They never make it to the garden.

* * *

They never make it to the garden.

Mira doesn’t mind. No, that is a gross understatement. She loves it. All of it. How Delrin’s mouth feels on hers. How his hands feel on her. The manly, intoxicating scent of his skin after the morning practice. The way his eyes blaze when she rushes to take off his clothing. His sighs and moans when she touches him. All the sweet things he murmurs into her ear when he caresses her. All the splendid things he does with his tongue.

Her body has never felt more hers than when she’s with him. There’s no restrains, no rules aside from what they like and desire. Some shyness, maybe, but no shame, never shame, even when she’s on her hands and knees, covered with sweat, clawing onto the sheets and screaming out of pleasure as he takes from behind, with his fingers between her legs. Only his steady grasp ensures she doesn’t lose balance.

Delrin moans her name shortly after, and all strength leaves her muscles when she collapses on the bed.

“Maker, preserve me,” he says.

“Is it you calling for help?” She giggles, shifting to rest her head on his chest.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, embracing her with his warm, strong arms. “It’s me giving thanks for my blessings.”

It’s absurd, but it brings joy nonetheless, especially when she sees the contentment in the raised corners of his mouth.

“I don’t think I expected sex to be that good,” she confesses, making Delrin glance at her and laugh.

“Yes?” He grins. “Well, that makes me very happy.”

“Mhm.”

“I like being married,” he adds, running his fingers on the small of her back. “I like having a wife.”

“Mhm? Do you like your wife?”

“I adore my wife,” he says with no hesitation, and Mira’s heart skips a bit because it is so easy, easier than anything in her life.

“ _Mąż_ ,” she says half-jokingly, but with emotion that can’t hide how defenseless her poor heart is. “It means ‘husband’.”

It wasn’t supposed to be that easy.

“Monzh,” Delrin repeats with an accent that makes her chuckle. “How would I say ‘wife’?

“ _Żona_.”

“Zhona.”

How odd it is to hear him speak Hasmali, even just those few words. Not in a bad way. Just odd, like peeking into a childhood home, although this time it is safe.

“You should teach me more,” he whispers, and Mira places a tiny kiss on his left clavicle and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Home.

This could be home.

* * *

The state of absolute contentment settles deep inside of him. Delrin bets nothing would ruin his mood as he steps down the stairs to head to the rooms near the armory.

“Delrin?” His father calls, opening the door to his study.

“Yes? I’m just heading out.”

“Commander Rutherford was here earlier, looking for you.”

“You didn’t call for me?”

“I went to fetch you myself. You seemed… _busy_.”

Oh, yes. Perhaps in any other circumstancesDelrin would feel more embarrassment; but Mira is his wife, and that is indeed their honeymoon.

“I see.”

“Don’t fret. I am glad,” Bann Barris coughs out, “that things are going well. It was a reminder to not come near the newlyweds’ quarters. Commander Rutherford did not see a reason to disturb your… rest, but I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

There is one reason only for Cullen to come here without it being the emergency requiring Delrin’s immediate attention. His father doesn’t have details, but he knows it too.

The orders came.

“I’m sorry,” his father whispers.

“Such is the duty.”

It is merely a fact, and while Delrin intends no bitterness, he can’t shake the grip of pain. It is so soon.

“Commander would insist to see me if we were to leave in the morning,” he continues. “So I know there is some time. Can we talk tomorrow? I wish to make sure my affairs are in order for Mira’s sake.”

Bann Barris has fought before and he certainly has sent both of his sons to battle, and yet Delrin sees the flicker of fear in his eyes, now clearer than ever.

“Of course, son,” his father says, gripping onto his shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

They march out the day after tomorrow, for the Hinterlands, where the group of Venatori hide in the wilderness. That is too close to Haven. It shouldn’t be a difficult mission, but then again Delrin is too cautious to be lulled into complacency. Simple missions turn deadly when one is not careful.

Mira takes one look at him when he comes back to the castle and narrows her eyes. As his wife, he ought to tell her first.

“Come with me,” he leads her to the first room when they can talk in private.

“You’re leaving,” she states after they sit down.

“Yes,” he confirms. “I am so sorry. Believe me, the last thing I wish for is to be apart from you, but I have no choice.”

“I know,” she sighs, bringing her hand to caress his cheek. “There is never enough time. How long do we have?”

Delrin tries to let go of the thought that if he had acted more reasonably, they would have had more days of sweetness between them.

“Two nights, including this one. We leave in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

He sees everything but indifference of her face, but Mira remains calm. Well, just like him, she grew up in the family of warriors and he gathers that she understands.

“We’ll make it count,” she whispers, kissing his lips so tenderly that he trembles.

“I only have one meeting tomorrow in the morning. Soldiers need to rest, so there won’t be any training. I know my parents will host a feast, but other than that, I want to spend as much time as possible with you.”

The smile he gets in return is sadder than normal, but no less warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Delrin goes to war soon. :(
> 
> I am not sure if anyone still reads this story, but I'll rejoice in all the comments. I've been sitting on this chapter for months.


	11. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin leaves for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW again!

It doesn’t surprise Mira that Delrin is called to fight. The war does not cease just because she found something good in life. Truce with Hasmal does not change the overall situation in Thedas.

During dinner, when Delrin announces his departure to the whole family, Mira sees the glassiness in lady Adriana’s eyes, and the grasp on her heart tightens. Does she look the same, she wonders, no doubt revealing how she feels? Is she allowed tears when her marriage is so new?

It is an early evening when they retire to their chambers, but Delrin suggests it and there’s a hint of impatience in his step. Two nights. It is not enough. How could it ever be enough when all the emotions rage like a storm and when the need burns so bright?

The silence surrounds them with the veil of inevitability. Every minute matters, so how should they even begin now that they are on borrowed time?

“Would you like to take a bath with me?” He asks.

He still hasn’t got a chance to wash after their time together in the afternoon, and although she has, she certainly doesn’t mind.

“I would love to.”

There is no part of her body he hasn’t seen in full light already from various angles, but this ordinary intimacy provides a new flavor.

“Will we fit?” She raises her eyebrows.

“We might make a mess,” he smiles, “but we’ll fit.”

By some miracle, they manage not to spill any water onto the stone floor, sitting across each other. Delrin’s skin shines, covered in droplets reflecting the candles set around them. He really is so beautiful, and now she knows him well, and not as well as she wants to.

How can she memorize each line of his gorgeous face or the glimmer in his eyes or the way he breathes, the way he talks, the way he feels? Nothing will come close. The same emotion shows on his face when Mira takes a bar of soap and washes him, to touch him, to show her care.

“I’m trying to learn you by heart,” he whispers when she runs her hands across his shoulders. “What a futile endeavor. You’re so gorgeous, and I don’t want for my recollection to disregard the tiniest detail.“

“You’re gorgeous, too,” she murmurs, kissing the tip of his nose, and he smiles.

The wars are waged and men and women die, but not him, it cannot be him. Not him, because he’s hers, and she wants him forever, for as long as possible. The thought is sharp and primal and decidedly selfish and unfair, but there’s only one of Delrin, her husband.

In their bed, he adores her. There’s no other way to name it, and it feels divine. He doesn’t rush, quite the contrary, he prolongs every caress until she’s drenched and shaking, until she begs. Maker, she begs him to put his mouth on her. Then there’s only growing pleasure, and she shatters into golden dust.

Delrin waits until she reaches to his hand to pull him so he’s above her. They make love the same way they did the first time, but with more ease and less hesitation. Her hand caresses his face, and he doesn’t stop looking at her, not even for a second. This also is excruciatingly unhurried and tender. All her senses sharpen in the comfort of the quiet night. He’s leaving, and there’s no time for reservation, so words pour out of her. The sweet and spicy words that she has just started getting comfortable with, about him, about his body and his cock, about every little thing she wants to try and how much she’ll miss him and everything they’ll do when he comes back. She tells him all, and he loses his rhythm, snapping his hips faster until he moans loudly, reaching his peak.

* * *

He expected that Mira would let him draw her, but the fact she allows him to draw her naked comes as a wonderful, naughty surprise. The flush from their lovemaking still covers her body when Delrin picks up his notebook and the pencils.

That’s his wife. His gorgeous, generous wife who enjoys him in bed more than he’d assume, making it impossible for him to keep his hands to himself.

Sweet Andraste, in his wildest dream he didn’t think it would turn up like this. This honeymoon might be cut short, but he enjoys every second of it.

“Aren’t you sore?” He asks, watching her lying lazily in the covers.

She laughs. “Only a little. You take a very good care of me.”

Delrin grins.

As little choice as she had in their marriage, now he is sure all the affection she bestows on him is freely given. As of him? If she wasn’t his wife, he would cross the Waking Sea for her. He would steal her from the cloister, he would fight her father just to see her look at him like that.

He doesn’t think he will be able to capture that expression in his drawing. He is not sure how to name that combination of sultriness, and joy and sadness that’s in her eyes right now.

She cares.

“I’m afraid,” she whispers, and he pauses. “I thought I wouldn’t be as much, but it cuts through me.”

It cuts through him as well.

“It’s a simple task,” he says, but he knows those words are not enough, however much he repeats it. “We can ride out tomorrow and talk about it? I only have a meeting in the morning. I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Tomorrow,” she nods, giving him a reassuring smile. “How is it going?”

“Nothing could do justice to all your loveliness, but I will enjoy it on my lonely nights,” he hands her the notebook.

“Oh,” Mira turns red, studying the drawing. “It’s… beautiful.”

He chuckles, taking the notebook and placing it on the nightstand.

“You’re beautiful,” he leans in to kiss her. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

“I want you to miss me when you’re away.”

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs between warm, soft kisses, laying next to her to her and covering them with a blanket. “You’re wonderful.”

Mira giggles, not able to keep up with kissing. “I think you’re quite wonderful, too.”

It’s silly and perfect.

She really is wonderful, and she makes this place more of a home than ever before. 

They talk of everything ordinary and frivolous, the opposite of war, trying to fit in as much into conversation as possible, trying to learn as much about each other in the short time they are given.

Delrin doesn’t want to think about leaving, about fighting, and killing. He doesn’t want to think of anything outside of here, where he’s lying on Mira’s breast and she’s caressing his head.

* * *

They are back in the forest filled with bluebells. Even though it hasn’t been long, Mira marvels at how everything has changed and how familiarity has replaced the unknown.

She doesn’t believe in fate, but if there is fate, then this must be it.

Delrin is the closest person she’s ever had. Never before has anyone strived to know her like this, and never before has anyone liked her like this. It’s not just the times of passion that bring them together, it is everything they do in between.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she says.

“It’s all right.”

“I feel very selfish. You’re the one going to war.”

“Just one mission,” he reassures her.

“Like it makes such a difference,” she counters. “Are you worried?”

“Yes,” he admits, pouring her a glass of shrub and handing it to her. “I’ve always thought there is no sense of getting rid of fear. It seems healthier to acknowledge it than to deny it. It’s not my first time, so the fear is familiar. It doesn’t hinder me, but it keeps me cautious. I am a cautious man, Mira. You know that. I won’t be reckless.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she breathes, taking a sip of a shrub to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve never thought this feeling would be so strong.”

“I am honored,” he says, and she sighs at his words. “No, truly, I am. I know you would have wished me well had it been a day two our marriage, but I also know that now everything’s changed, and I am honored, and happy. Coming back will be all sweeter for it.”

“You’re such a sweet man. No words will take away my worry, but I am glad that I can say it all to you.”

“Anything for you,” he says, digging into his backpack and taking out a notebook. “Can I draw you like this?”

“Again?!”

“Last night was for my eyes only,” he states. “I am not showing it to anyone. I’d like a sketch I can use to brag about my lovely wife.”

“You’re too good at this,” she giggles. “Who would have thought you’d turn out such a charmer?”

“Who would have thought it’d turn out like this?” He counters. “Not me.”

“I thought you were very handsome when we saw each other for the first time.”

“You did? I’ve always found you beautiful. You were lovely, and shy, and sweet, and I was a fool who didn’t know how to act.”

“Look at us now,” Mira smiles as Dot walks up to her to get her ears scratched.

If anybody saw them, they’d think they are just a young newlywed couple, completely taken with each other.

Well, they are.

* * *

Some talks are unavoidable. There have been times when Delrin could not find a common tongue with his father, but he has always trusted him in matters of importance.

Today, he simply needs to make assurances for Mira’s sake.

He knocks.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” he opens the door, seeing his father behind the desk.

He tries to act normal, but Delrin picks up on some signs of stress.

“Sit down, son. I believe there were matters you wished to discuss.”

“Yes,” voice dries in his throat, but he collects himself. “In case I die, I want to know that my wife will be taken care of.”

As a soldier, he has always given thought to the notion of his death, but never before has there been someone depending on him. He knows he has the right to live in Barrfield, and his family would never cast him away, but he has little claim to the inheritance, and while the Inquisition pays his salary, it’s smaller than the means of his family. Not enough to secure Mira for years to come if he perishes in battle.

“Delrin,” Bann Barris breathes, “you’re my blood—“

“Please, let me say my peace,” he pleads and his father nods, tightening his jawline. “Most of my life, I have asked little of you. I’ve always realized my duties, but I also know I’ve shown much independence and I haven’t asked for permission or even guidance making my choices. I didn’t ask for permission or guidance making an offer of marriage, and yet you and mother not only have helped me each step of the way, not only have opened your door for the soldiers of the Inquisition but also for my wife. I have little right to ask more of you. In the unlikely event of my death, all I want is for Mira to be safe and taken care of. She can’t go back to Hasmal, ever. I don’t want her to be compelled to marry unless it’s her choice ever again, and even with all my life savings, I can’t guarantee that to her. I know what kind of man you are, but I need to hear you promise me that she always has a home here. Please.”

“I promise. You’re my son, and that makes your wife my daughter. It will never change. I see your paperwork. Is it your will?”

“Yes,” he hands it to his father. “I signed with Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast as my witnesses. They sent out the copies to the Inquisition. The rest stays with you.”

“Very well,” Bann Barris says. “Delrin?”

“Yes?”

“If I seem hesitant, it is because I do not like pondering your death, not because I disapprove of what you do. I am proud of you, son, for thinking of all this even when time is short. I’m proud of you in general. You are stubborn and yes, you never ask before making your choices, but you’re a good man and I’m truly proud of you. I should be saying it more.”

Delrin blinks, unaccustomed to such affection, even though he always knows that his father cares for him.

“Thank you, dad,” he says, getting up. “For everything.”

“I love you,” his father looks at him. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he confirms, even though he hears it so rarely. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Cassandra has already packed. The small bedroom is nearly empty.

“I know you’re sulking because Barris is leaving.”

“You are leaving, too!”

“We must head back to Haven. Honestly, the Inquisition has already extended the welcome of Bann Barris. I am sure you will come to Haven sooner or later.”

“I heard the mountains are beautiful.”

“I don’t know who told you that,” Cassandra laughs, rolling her eyes. “How are you feeling now that your husband leaves for a mission?”

“I was raised in a military household, but I’ve never been so sad. It’s been good between us.”

“Dare I say. I haven’t seen either of you for the last few days.”

“Yes,” Mira bites her lip, smiling to her thoughts. “We’ve been rather busy.”

“Oh, Mira. It’s good to see you like this. Don’t worry too much. Barris is an experienced soldier,” Cassandra says. “One of the best we have.”

“Why do you all keep saying this? You must know it does nothing for my concern. You know as well as I do that it can be a draw of luck, and I only recently have found luck in my life. I don’t know how to trust it or depend on it.”

“Have faith?” Cassandra raises her eyebrows. “Or get busy.”

“Easy to say. Everyone’s leaving.”

“You can discover a bit of this home without Barris. You can discover a bit of the area without him. When he comes back, you can show him something new in the place he knows.”

“Cass, you are an utter romantic,” Mira laughs. “I like the idea. Will you write me?”

“Yes,” Cassandra promises. “I’ll write you as much as I can. Who else am I going to discuss the romance books with? Cullen?”

“I’m glad I play such a prominent role in your life,” Mira teases, and turns serious watching Casandra’s stern and kind face. “I will miss your company.”

“Me too,” her friends responds.

* * *

The tables are heavy with food. It’s a good Fereldan custom to serve a proper feast, and although on such short notice the food is simple, that makes it even better. Soldiers seek comfort over fancy dishes.

“You outdid yourself, mother,” he kisses her cheek as she pats him on the shoulder.

“Enjoy yourself tonight, sweetheart,” she says.

Mother has done it all before for her husband, and then both of her sons. Every time he leaves there’s a celebration, and a bigger one when he comes back.

This time, it’s not just for him, but for other soldiers as well. For tonight, this is their home far away from home, so they would go to war knowing that someone cares.

His mother’s hands shake when she caresses his arm. His parents aren’t young anymore, although he’s his sure his mother would scold him if he said so out loud. Her eyes are glassy even as she hides behind the role of a hostess. Delrin knows her better than that.

It seems that his wife is similar in that regard. When she’s chatting with the guests, every other moment she turns to glance at him, and there’s sadness in her smile.

She worries for him, but he wonders about her. This country is new for Mira, and now she is tossed into yet another role of a waiting wife.

At least he’s not fighting the Hasmali this time. One day he might, but tonight he won’t think of that burden.

“I have never seen you so smitten,” his mother chuckles, patting his shoulder again, this time with more force. “You didn’t hear the of what I just said.”

“Sorry, mom, what were you saying?”

She studies him, eyebrows frowning, but with a smirk on her face. “Maker, look at you. Sometimes it dawns on me how tall and strong you are, when I still remember that sweet little boy as if it was yesterday.”

“What brings this on?” He shakes his head. “Are you that worried about me that you must reminisce me already?”

“Don’t say stupid things like that,” she swats him. “I was thinking that you are a married man and that it’s good for your mother to see you happy. Andraste, preserve me. Wait until you have children!”

“Yes, mother,” he laughs, and the thought of the future beyond the war warms up his heart.

“I’m not keeping you,” she encourages him. “Go to your bride. I’ll find your father.”

“Yes, mother,” he listens, obedient.

Through it all, his parents stand by him, and Delrin is grateful. He hasn’t made it easy for them, but they like Mira for who she is, and he knows they will support her as well. They see his happiness. Good. He’s glad it shows.

“I can’t seem to stay away from you for long,” he murmurs to Mira, wrapping his arms across her waist and letting her lean on him.

“Good,” she says. “I’m counting on it.”

* * *

As a child in Hasmal, Mira attended many feasts before the battle. In truth, they were similar to this one. Good food, lots of alcohol, and no talk about the war.

As a child, she witnessed her father leave for battle many times over. She felt fear, for certain, but not for his sake. Losing meant that voivode Surma would be in an exceptionally bad mood. If he had fallen, Mira knew she and her mother would be in danger. Most wishes for his safe return have always been tainted by self preservation.

This time, it is different, and the affection almost chokes her. Mira knows the scars on Delrin’s body and she sees the past vulnerabilities. No person is invincible. It doesn’t matter how good he is with his sword or how careful or smart. To her, he is precious, and all that is precious is inherently fragile, too.

Right now, she worries she might lose her husband. The one who means the most.

She has seen him spar. He’s strong and quick, a true warrior, but for her, he’s the man who sleeps by her side, who enjoys drawing and long walks with his dog, who likes being kissed and embraced, who takes his coffee black and tea with no sugar, but puts twice as much whipped cream onto his pancakes.

Does she have a right to claim him so quickly? If only by the law, then yes.

If by her heart, then she claims him, too.

She looks at his mother, whose eyes are wet, even though lady Adriana tries to hide it. It must be difficult to send a son to war. More difficult than a husband, so Mira takes a deep breath and hides her own sadness from others.

Delrin knows. That’s more important. There are things they have yet to tell each other, but he must know how she feels.

He’s bolder tonight, and it tells her that despite all of his assurances of how easy the mission is, tonight is not like any other night. How could it be? He will battle. Anything could happen.

His hand squeezes her thigh, even though they are in public, but Mira doesn’t mind. He’s leaving tomorrow, and she can let them all see she how much she adores him. Whatever crude gossip might follow, whatever words of her being his foreign bride, the enemy’s daughter, the war trophy, Mira is not ashamed.

“We can go,” he whispers into his ear, sending a little shiver down her spine.

“Didn’t your mother order a special dessert for you?”

There’s a playful sparkle in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he says, smiling. “They’ll save it for me. Mother will understand.”

They hold hands, leaving the room, and Mira’s body is burning knowing that he wants all those moments with her.

* * *

Mira’s riding him, holding onto his body as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Yes,” Delrin moans. “Just like that, honey.”

“Delrin,” she whimpers, digging her fingertips into his back.

He wants to capture this, to take it all with him. Her lips, her taste, her eyes when she looks at him, her curly hair he holds a fistful of, her breasts, bouncing and rubbing against him, and that sweetest cunt tightening on his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, Mira. Holy shit. Mhm. You’re so good, honey. Do you like it? Tell me, tell me, please.”

“Yes,” she breathes, her thighs trembling. “Delrin, yes, yes!”

She falls apart, crying into his neck and clinging to him, and he doesn’t last even ten seconds longer. They are both sweaty and disheveled. His heart is still beating fast, and Mira is still shaking, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him.

After all that, the silence is both sudden and heavy.

“I might cry,” Mira says.

“Then cry,” he whispers into her ears, stroking her back. “I’m here to hold you.”

“I wish I could keep you here,” she reveals, and he feels the wet tears on the skin on his neck.

“I don’t want to leave you. Believe me, I don’t.”

Each time Delrin leaves for battle, he knows there’s a chance he might not return. Every soldier must know it, even if they don’t fully believe it. This night could be the last time in his home, in his bed, with his wife.

He wants to come back.

Never in his life has Delrin wanted more. More of her, more of this, more of the future.

He’s still hearing the sounds of the ongoing celebration when they lie down for the night.

“I have feelings for you,” she confesses, and even though he knows, it still surprises him that she says it outright. “I don’t want you to leave without me saying it.”

It makes his heart reach his throat. He hasn’t expected to feel so raw and tender. Such simple words, and they mean everything.

“I have feelings for you, too,” he murmurs, and to his surprise his own voice shake.

She graces him with a brightest smile.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she says, kissing his lips.

“And I’ll come home.”

* * *

They stand by the gates to the estate, and Mira can’t hide her sadness. It seems like they’ve just met, but now they share so much between them.

Today Delrin is serious, focused on the soldiers and their needs.

He still smiles whenever their eyes meet.

It is a long goodbye, involving the entire family. The parents give their blessings, Lucy offers each soldier a rose for good luck. Everyone has a few words to say to Delrin, and he is not the only one to leave. Most of the Inquisition soldiers ride out today.

The house will feel empty.

“I might miss your birthday by a few days,” he says when it is their time to part. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t care about any of it, as long as you return to me.”

He takes her hand in his. “Dot will take care of you.”

“Are you sure you won’t be taking her?”

“It won’t be a long assignment, and you could use a company. Take care of her, too.”

He looks so brave wearing full armor, but Mira still pleads to the Maker to make sure that he comes back.

They kiss for longer than customary and not long enough for Mira.

And then he leaves, and the second his horse disappears on the horizon, Mira knows there won’t be peace in her heart until she sees him again.

“Tomorrow we could go to the city,” lady Adriana says as they walk back to the house. “I am sure you need clothing, and I could get something new for the season. Lucille will probably want to join us. Lord Packenham invites us for dinner on Sunday.”

Mira wonders if the woman tries to cheer her up or distract herself. Perhaps both. Perhaps now they are closer by the worry they share.

“I wouldn’t mind the trip,” she agrees. “Should I leave Dot home?”

“It’s Ferelden, sweetheart,” lady Adriana smirks. “You can take a Mabari wherever you want to, especially one as good as Dot.”

Mira looks at the dog, now at her side, and then at the people stepping beside her.

Her heart is sore without Delrin, but not entirely empty. All those people are her family now, and they’ve always welcomed her in their home.

“You really care for him, don’t you?” Lady Adriana asks. “He’s been so happy those last few days. He certainly is very fond of you.”

Perhaps on a normal day Mira would be embarrassed or consider it prying, but today she doesn’t mind.

“I care for him,” she admits. “I care for him very much.”

“I am so glad,” lady Adriana grips her hand and squeezes it. “He’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy those moments of sweetness. 
> 
> Comments will be very appreciated. 
> 
> :) 
> 
> I adore Lady Adriana. She's the MVP.


	12. Foreign Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epistolary chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW here and there.

_My sweet Mira,_

_We arrived in the Hinterlands. The task keeps up busy, but we’re staying safe. I know you worry, but I don’t foresee complications and I want you to breathe a little easier._

_It’s your birthday today, and I wish I was there, but I promise you, we’ll celebrate once again when I come back. Happy birthday, Mira. I hope your day is lovely, and I wish you everything you could dream of. I want to make your wishes come through. I hope you like your gift._

_We didn’t have as much time together, but my heart is full of joy knowing that I have you to come home to. The last few days were incredible, and you know how taken I am with you. We haven’t known each other for long, but I find that I almost don’t remember how it had been before you came into my life._

_I miss your smile. I miss watching you eat when we sit for dinner, and the way you nod when you try something new and like it. I miss how your cheeks blush when I touch you or whisper into your ear. I miss our conversations, and I’m amazed how easy it is for us to talk right now._

_I miss every moment. I miss your kisses, and the way you cuddle with me at night. I miss how warm your body is when I wake up in the morning, and how lovely you are when you’re sleepy. I miss your voice and the way you say my name._

_There’s something beautiful in that longing. I’ve always enjoyed coming home, but now it has gained a new meaning because of you._

_Write me about all the things small and grand. I just want to hear from you, and I hope you’re doing well and that Dot is taking good care of you._

_I can’t wait for your letter._

_Faithfully,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_Dear Delrin,_

_I smiled, reading your letter. I am glad you’re safe and I think about you all the time. I’ve always lived among the warriors, but it seems that the affection makes me more vulnerable, because I fear you for safety._

_Thank you for your wishes and thank you for the gift. I’m not sure how you’ve arranged for the horse, but Yarrow is beautiful. I don’t think I can thank you properly through the letter, but I will once you come back._

_What a good horse she is. Your father keeps saying that he knows she is not Hasmali, but a good horse is a good horse, and I am a good rider._

_We took a long trip, and your father showed me the quite a bit of Barrfield lands that fall under his rule. The area is gorgeous, especially as the summer arrives and the world explodes with bloom._

_Your mother makes sure I’m busy, but I appreciate it. We traveled to Danemouth to purchase clothes for the season. Apparently the summer parties are quite prominent in the Bannorn, so even with the soldiers gone, the social calendar is full._

_Dot is taking good care of me. She loved the ride with your father, and now she’s asleep by the foot of the bed. I take her for long walks and she enjoys every second of it. I’ve never met a smarter dog, and I think she is fond of me, too._

_I miss you as well. It’s such a new sensation for me to miss someone and the intensity of it takes my breath away._

_I miss those little moments. I miss that particular frown you make when you disagree with your father or brother and I miss seeing how many pancakes you can eat for breakfast. I miss the smile you give me when I come watch you train. I miss watching you draw and watching you chuckle when you read a good book._

_I miss your warm hands, and how you grab me to pull me closer in bed. I miss listening to your heartbeat as I’m drifting into sleep. I miss your soft kisses, and I miss the kisses that are more hungry, too._

_I am here, waiting for you and as much as I am scared for you, I’m filled with gratitude for everything I feel, and for how much I care, and how much I want you, and how beautiful it has been._

_I am eager for the rest of our lives._

_Stay safe, Delrin. Think of me, too._

_Yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_My dearest Mira,_

_I wish you would have found out about this from me, but I am sure the news has reached you before this letter could._

_Hasmal broke the treaty and invaded the borders of Nevarra once again._

_I am sorry, honey. I can only imagine how that makes you feel. I am sorry to tell you that I am called to fight on the Nevarran side._

_I hope this won’t take long. None of us could have prepared for that, but rest assured that many soldiers travel to Nevarra, including Commander Cullen, Bull and Cassandra. I won’t be alone._

_What words can I give you? None feel adequate. I wish I could take away your pain and your worry, but I know that’s impossible. Just remember you can tell me however you feel._

_I haven’t always been the best husband when it comes to our communication, but you should never hide your heart from me._

_Mira, I know there’s nothing right to say in such a situation, but I am so grateful you are on that part of the Waking Sea. I am grateful for knowing that you are safe and cared for. That war sickens me as it is, but knowing that you are protected makes me breathe easier._

_I care for you with all that I am._

_Yours,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_Dear Delrin,_

_It’s taken me a few tries to write that letter. You’re right, I am worried for you and that worry won’t leave me until you return._

_I also am not sure what I could say._

_I want you to win. I don’t think you need me to write that, but perhaps I need to let those words out for myself. I know who my father is, and I need you to win. I just hope it ends soon and without many casualties._

_Still, my heart breaks for Hasmal, and for the people -_ _my people_ _\- who are given no choice in those matters. They are living through wars that most of them have not asked for, and they might cling to my father because they are afraid of the empires around while their own leaders are slaughtering them and poisoning their thoughts._

_It’s difficult to find a place to cry. Your family is very polite, but we dined at lord Packenham’s on Sunday when the first news came, and no other guests could bear to look at me._

_I know many will see our marriage as a failure. Politically, it is a failure that brought a mere couple of months of relative peace, and even that is a generous assessment._

_But I am still here and I am still your wife, and I miss you with every fiber of my being, and it’s your safety I care for above all others._

_I feel embarrassed and ashamed, as if I failed you. As if your sacrifices weren’t enough._

_I don’t know how to speak about it. Your mother is very keen on ensuring I feel like I belong. I look Fereldan, especially with Dot by my side._

_I am Fereldan by marriage, and my heart belongs here more than in any other places, but I know that regardless of the laws and customs, I am a foreigner from the country Ferelden is at war with._

_Maybe I will always be torn and split between two places. I reject my father, and I would reject him thousand times over, but I can’t reject my language, I can’t reject my people, I can’t reject my culture. It will always flow through my veins._

_What I can promise you is that aside of brokenness I feel, none of that changes what you mean to me._

_I should be supporting you when you’re risking your life, and I know how much you crave peace, but I am afraid I might be terribly needy of some reassurances from you. Perhaps I have no right to ask for that, but I am asking._

_I wish you would see the parts of my country that are beautiful. I wish we could visit one day, but I know none of it will happen._

_Stay safe. I wish there was a way for me to protect you._

_Yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_Mira; my heart,_

_I wish I could hold you in my arms and give you whatever reassurances you need._

_Our marriage is not a failure. However it begun and for whatever political purpose has no bearing to me. I found you, a beautiful, kind and wonderful woman, and I gave you myself, for all I am. Our marriage is not defined by how we met, but by what we mean to each other._

_You mean_ _the world_ _to me. This war doesn’t change that, and you don’t need to be careful with your feelings about your homeland with me, either. Whatever my shortcomings are, I am strong, and you won’t offend me or hurt me because you are angry and upset because of that horrible war. I can take what you’re willing to share. I can be the husband you need. At the very least, I can try._

_I can’t share much of our daily battles, but I can tell you that no one here wants this war to become anything bigger than what it is now. We’re here to defend, not invade, although I acknowledge that nothing makes the war truly just._

_As ugly as the war is, I see beauty here. I might stand on the Nevarran soil, but I see the steppe, and it’s so vast that it takes my breath away._

_My mother might take our Fereldan hospitality to the extreme, but I know who you are, Mira, and I would not change any part of you._

_I miss you as well. I miss seeing your beautiful face when I fall asleep and when I wake up. I hope I get to see you soon, and I hope we’ll enjoy peace together._

_Please be sure of my dedication to you._

_Yours,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_My dearest husband,_

_I apologize for how panicked my letter must have sounded. I don’t mean to doubt your dedication, I just like hearing those words from you._

_You know I am not used to being cared for. Sometimes I feel I get scared too easily, and I take a step back, but with you I can’t hide how deep my hopes and dream are. I’ve already given you whatever I could have, and you have been caring, and open, and sweet._

_It’s eerie to know there’s a war in the place so familiar to me, and yet the time turns like before. Sure, the dinner conversations change, and there are plenty of initiatives to help, but life stays the same. I think it reassures everyone that some things remain constant._

_At least that is what your mother said, insisting we all attend the Wolfsbridge Floral Exhibition to showcase the roses of Master Myrthe, the estate gardener, in support of his work. Your father wasn’t keen, but he agreed, leaving Calvin and Tristan to care for the estate, and the rest of us traveled to Wolfsbridge._

_I have never seen so many roses, and I have never seen your mother quite excited, especially as our roses won the third place. I have never seen as many Banns in one place either. If that was a floral exhibition, what does the Landsmeet look like? I also have never seen as many Mabaris. I joked whether this was a flower exhibition or a dog exhibition, but Katherine informed me that dog exhibitions are just as real and much more ruthless._

_I think you view the Mabari as we view the horses in Hasmal._

_I hope you enjoy that little slice of home, although your mother says you never pay attention to things like that._

_It was a good day; I admit. Dot was guarding me the whole time. I think your family likes me, even amidst it all._

_I miss you. The nights and mornings are the worst. I don’t like my bed empty._

_Yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_My sweet Mira,_

_The letter was delightful and brought a smile to my face._

_My mother makes a lot of claims about my attention, but I assure you, I am quite observant. No one can match her love for her roses, and she guilts us all. Believe me, her letter accounted for the kinds of roses in all categories with painstaking detail._

_Sometimes the Bannorn might seem small with all the same crowds at every event, but I admit that the older I get, the more I cherish what is good. I miss home._

_Above all, I miss you._

_The days are busy, and I try to rest when I can, but my evenings are restless. I look at the drawing of you - you know which one - and I recall the warmth of your body or the way you taste. I don’t mean for my letters to cause you any discomfort, but I sense some encouragement, so let me simply say that I miss making love with you. If you ever want to write more, please know that I would be delighted, and that because of my rank no one reads through my private correspondence. You can tell me how much you miss our evenings and mornings._

_I wish I had different news, but the fighting is ongoing and as of now, there seems to be no end to it. I am all right, though. All better when I think of you, and that I will see you, sooner or later._

_I want to kiss you. I wish I could kiss you, and feel your smile afterwards, before I even open my eyes._

_Even when you’re far away, you light up my life._

_Yours,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_Dear Delrin,_

_I hope you’re staying safe. We hear the news and the gossip, and some of it troubles me. I try not to focus about it._

_The days are long without you. Too long, to be honest. I don’t ever remember having that much free time._

_Today I finally garnered the courage and visited the local clinic run by the sisters and asked if I could be of help. To say that they don’t trust me is an understatement, but they couldn’t quite refuse your mother._

_Now I will help out at the infirmary where I am not wanted, but I hope to prove myself with time. I admit, I missed it. It was a part of my life that felt only mine, and it made me proud._

_As of your encouragement, I certainly want to write more, but writing and whispering to you in the privacy of our bedroom are two different things, so be patient with me. It’s all new for me._

_I think I am getting warm and I’m blushing. I hope you’re enjoying this._

_I miss you. I miss the look in your eyes when I know that you want me, and that first moment when you reach out to me, pulling me for a kiss or running your fingers across my neck and shoulders, or touching the place above my knees. I know what you’re thinking before you say it. Your body gets warmer, your skin almost burns. I touch you with no reservation and you smile at me._

_I love when you touch me. It feels good, and I like that you enjoy my body. I miss this. I miss your hands on me; I miss your lips on me. I miss what you can do with your mouth and your tongue. I miss the sensation of you inside of me. There’s nothing quite like that, there’s no other feeling to compare it to, and I know you love it, too, because of the noises you make and the words you tell me… You’re usually so stoic and quiet, but not in bed. Maybe that’s the truth for me, too. I miss making love with you. I miss you with everything that I am._

_My whole body is hot now, and not just from embarrassment. I hope you enjoy reading my ramblings._

_I want to kiss you, too. Please stay safe. I worry each day._

_Yours,_

_Mira._

* * *

_Mira, my heart,_

_The fighting continues, but the Hasmali won’t be able to keep up with our reinforcements. The hardest days are ahead of us, but we expect to begin negotiations soon. I haven’t been injured and I am safe. I am sure Cassandra is keeping you informed as well._

_I am glad you’ve started helping at the infirmary and I know how much it means to you. I hope all goes well, and I am glad my mother supports you. She can be a handful, but I know she cares._

_I don’t want to write too much of war, but I will answer whatever questions you ask. There are Hasmali working with us, and I even picked up some words to tell you when I come back. I’ve also tried some Hasmali dishes, like cucumber salad and roasted duck. It’s sad to be here during this time, but I try to take away something more than destruction, something that could mean something to you._

_I am not going to lie, Mira; it feels wrong to be here, and that is what plagues me. I know I can be open about the knyaz’ cruelty and your father’s crimes, and I know you hold no loyalty to the court. I have no choice but to be here, but it feels wrong, nonetheless._

_I’ve never wanted to take you and burn where you come from. We talked about it. I don’t want it to be like this; I want you to have freedom to be who you are. I want to give you more than to take away, and above all, I don’t want to cause any harm or make you feel like your home - our home - is only yours under a set of circumstances._

_Now I am rambling. Please forgive me. You’ve given me not only affection, but trust, and I never want to take this trust away._

_Oh, Mira. I love all your words, and I imagine your shyness and the blush on your cheeks. I like that. It’s very sweet, and your shyness only lasts to the point, because yes, you are open and needy when we’re in bed and I love it. I love when you lose yourself, when you grip onto me or the sheets, when you scream my name and cry out of pleasure._

_You are so gorgeous, and so generous with your affections, and so perfect. I miss you; I crave you; I long for you, and I only have my memories to get me through until we’re together again._

_Please, when I come back, let’s lock ourselves in the bedroom and leave only for meals. I want to do so many wonderful things with you. I want to be with you, feel you near me, around me._

_I want to hear you say what I mean to you, and I want to whisper those words to you._

_I am sorry we’re apart for so long._

_Yours,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_Dear Delrin,_

_You should not carry a burden of this war on your shoulders, especially as it relates to you and me._

_I know you take no joy in being there and doing the work you do, and I’m grateful that amidst that, you’re still considerate of me._

_I don’t give you empty words. We’re just trapped by our circumstances, but still choose to care for one another, to speak freely._

_I don’t expect you to save Hasmal. I only expect what I already know to be true, which is for you to be a man of honor who doesn’t rejoice in victories that cost others their everything._

_You are not responsible to remedy the evils of my father, and you’re also not responsible to make up for the hurts that happened during my childhood. The only thing I want from you are the things a wife wants from her husband._

_It is bittersweet and painful, but it still makes me smile to know you learn something of Hasmal; something transcending the conflict, the court, my father. I am glad there are things you like._

_The work at the infirmary goes well enough. I don’t speak much, but the sisters at least trust my skills, even though they prefer me not speaking with the patients. The Barrfield villagers know who I am, and I think they are confused in how to see me, at least as long as this war lasts._

_The fact that Dot accompanies me helps. I guess I can see for myself how important the Mabari are._

_I am still embarrassed over the last letter, but I’m glad you enjoyed it, and truthfully, it felt nice to hear how much you long for me, and it was nice to imagine how you help yourself with that longing._

_I must admit that it doesn’t matter how I touch myself, it doesn’t come close to the way your hands or your mouth feel on my body._

_I miss you. Please remember how much I care and don’t worry about the rest. I will not blame you for things out of your control. I_ _really_ _care for you._

_I only want you to come back to me._

_Yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_My precious Mira,_

_The fighting escalates. It won’t be a long note, because the days are very busy, but please know that your last letter meant everything to me._

_I can’t thank you enough for being not only understanding, but honest and caring. You always give me so much, and I want you to know that I treat it as sacred. I won’t be cavalier with your patience and generosity._

_Oh, Mira. Do you realize how sweet is the image of you pleasuring yourself, thinking of me? Will you show me how you do it when I come back?_

_I can’t wait to be home. I can’t wait to be with you._

_Yours,_

_Delrin_

* * *

_Dearest Delrin,_

_I keep thinking of you every spare moment. I know I am not the only one to do so. Your whole family misses you and awaits your safe return._

_I had a breakthrough at the infirmary. One of the farmers’ wives went into labour, and there were complications that I had seen previously delivering babies in Hasmal. I was able to help and the sweet little baby girl was born healthy._

_To thank me, the proud parents decided to give her a special name… No, not Mira. They named the baby Adriana to honor your mother. I still claim it as victory, and everyone at the infirmary has warmed up to me since then._

_It’s easy to give myself to you, and to be patient, and to be sweet, when you treat me well and with care, and when I feel safe with you. I am proud of how we speak to each other. You make me happy. The only thing that keeps me awake at night is the war._

_I have to admit, Barrfield feels like home to me. More so with each passing day. I know the village; I know the grounds. I take Yarrow for a ride almost every single day. I might know every crook and cranny of the manor._

_Your family feels more like my family, too. I play chess with your father; I take my afternoon tea with your mother and Katherine, I even spend time with Tristan and Lucy. I no longer feel a stranger._

_I simply long for your company._

_And yes, if you would like to watch me (my hand is shaking, writing this), then we could do it upon your return. After we do other things, because I miss your touch too much._

_I need you. It’s been almost two months. Each day I worry. Each day I hope to get news that it’s over._

_Yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_My loveliest Mira,_

_The Hasmali’s side agreed to begin the negotiations. The fighting is infrequent, but some of us still patrol the borders, since we hear the worrisome news of some Hasmali huzars terrorizing the locals. The reputation of Yosef Sapieha precedes him._

_It’s almost done, Mira._

_I chuckled hearing about the baby. I am sorry that so many of the Fereldans are so stuck in their ways that they are hesitant to embrace you, but I am happy that you feel more at home in Barrfield. That’s all I want._

_We’ve been apart longer than we’ve been together, and believe me, I long to see you. I have so much to tell you; I have a thousand kisses to give you, and I will make love to you until you’re out of breath, shaking in my arms._

_You must know what you mean to me._

_Mira, stay patient. It’s almost done._

_Yours,_

_Delrin._

* * *

_Dear Delrin,_

_Please be cautious. Don’t trust the Hasmali. Whatever you hear about Yosef, he is skilled, and he is feared. Don’t let him catch you you by surprise. I worry that because he knows who you are, he might try to attack you out of whim. Even my father doesn’t fully control Yosef. Please, I am begging you,_ _be careful_ _. I am sick with worry._

_The closer I know we are to your return, the more I worry. I have thought to be calm, but now I’m shivering like a leaf._

_All I am asking is for you to return, and then I will give you all the kisses, and all the tenderness, and all of my affection. I need you in my arms, here, in our home, in our bed._

_I miss you more that I can put into words._

_Just send the word and I will there, waiting at the dock to see you._

_Forever yours,_

_Mira_

* * *

_My sweetest wife,_

_It’s done._

_I got a little injury in my latest fight, but I am fine. I assure you, it’s nothing. After last night’s defeat of the huzars, the Hasmali signed the armistice. Yosef is dead. I thought you should hear it for me._

_Some soldiers will remain at the border, but I am coming back. I am ready to board, and I will be searching for your face and your beautiful hair when finally come back to Ferelden._

_Mira, honey, I am so honored that you’ve missed me so much, and you have been patient and kind._

_I will kiss you, I will hug you. I am not leaving your side until the duty calls again, but that shouldn’t happen for some time, and we should have time to enjoy each other._

_My beautiful, precious wife. I am coming home, and I have gifts for you._

_I will see you very, very soon._

_Forever yours,_

_Delrin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the letters. Two chapters until the end of the story. As usual, I cherish your comments and they definitely are a big encouragement to write.


	13. Homeland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delrin returns to Ferelden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: injury, medicine, bodily fluids, pain, mentions of war crimes, mentions of sexual assault/rape (not graphic)
> 
> Also explicit NSFW. 
> 
> It sounds scarier than the chapter truly is.

It might be the hottest day of the year. Is it the sun or the nervousness in her stomach that makes Mira feel so weak?

At least Dot seems equally restless.

Mira’s heart is beating faster and faster, watching the ship dock and waiting.

So that how it feels when your husband comes back from war, she thinks. It is sweet, and warm, and a bit terrifying given how they haven’t seen each for over two months, the majority of their marriage.

When she came to this country, it was not into the city. Now she is in Portsmouth with her father-in-law and plenty of other Fereldans waiting for their loved ones to return.

Loved ones.

The word does not catch her as a surprise. There is no surprise, but it remains undeclared.

Where is Delrin? Every seconds of the docking drags into forever, and Mira just wants to see his smile and to look into his eyes and—

Dot starts yelping. Why is she yelping?

There he is! Mira would recognize his tall silhouette and his half-shaven head anywhere, but now he isn’t standing on his own but leaning on the Iron Bull, and Mira runs, and so does Bann Barris.

Delrin looks _wrong_. His skin, normally warm-hued, is now ashen with sickness. He is sweating, his eyes are closed, and he doesn’t seem to be coherent.

“Get me the carriage!” Bann Barris shouts while Mira touches her husband, feeling the wetness of his sweaty clothes, and the putrid smell of infection.

“Delrin,” she says, trying to calm her own breathing. “Delrin?”

If he recognizes her, he doesn’t show it. The fever has taken over his body, and the fear takes over Mira as Bull carries Delrin to the carriage, and Bann Barris rushes after them, and then they leave.

A second passes, maybe two, when Mira is frozen in place. She can help, she knows what to do, and she should be there. Dot nudges her with her nose, and Mira moves.

“Horse!” She shouts, running towadrds the Barrfield guard who has accompanied them to Portsmouth. “Do you know where the infirmary is?”

“Yes, my lady!” The man gestures.

They catch up with the carriage just as it arrives by the clinic, and Mira runs inside, letting the guard handle the horses.

“Dot, wait! You can’t come further. Wait,” Mira begs the Mabari, following the corridor of a small infirmary to the secluded room.

Bull places Delrin on the bad, while the sisters gather round the bed, cutting down his clothes.

The wound near his knee is more than a scrape. It must have been the lance that caused that.

“He was fine when we boarded the ship in Hasmal,” the Iron Bull says, and even his usually calm voice cannot hide his emotions. “He started feeling ill few hours later, and it’s been getting only a bit worse until he crashed a coupe of hours ago.”

Blood poisoning? The vomit reaches Mira’s throat. Why? Why is she so useless? She knows what to do, she knows what to do.

“He’s always so careful,” Bann Barris says. “He didn’t write of any injuries.”

“The lance broke through his armor near his knee,” Bull explains to everybody, and sisters listen.“We thought nothing of it, and he killed the man who did it. I gave him my potions, but none of them worked well.”

“All in the Maker’s hands,” one of the medics explains.

No, it’s not. It never is. If it was all in the Maker’s hands, there would more justice and less need for healers, but it’s all despite of the the Maker’s fate, and Mira must do something, she must! Why can’t she move? Why can’t she open her mouth?

“We have potions here, so tell me what you’ve tried already,” the sister says, and Bull lists to the ingredients.

“My lady,” the Barrfield guard taps her arm and Mira glances at him. “Your bag. We brought your bag.”

Her bag, her medical bag from Cassandra, her bag she’s been using in Barrfied. Yes, her bag!

“Raven!” Bull hollers. “I need a raven to send the message to our Hasmali allies. The fuckers must know some blighted concoction—“

“I know it!” Mira yells, and the second she does, the helplessness goes away. “I have it on me! I have it. I made it the Barrfield clinic, I have the potion, and I can make more if you have ingredients,” she opens the bag and searches through the vials.

“Mira,” Bann Barris whispers, as if he forgot of her existence. “I didn’t even— You say you can help?”

“I hope so,” her own voice shakes.

“What the fuck was on the lance?”

“Uhm,” she tries to gather her thoughts, checking the vials and handing the potion to the sisters. “Horse feces, sometimes mixed with viper venom, mostly. The venom so the wound would not close despite cleaning and dressing, and the feces to cause the infection. It had been done in the past more often than now. Tow it’s thought to be barbaric because the risk of injury to compatriots is high, and there’s a risk of injury to horses, but I know one of my father’s men still used poison. Yosef Sapieha. Delrin wrote me that Yosef had died. Was he the one to kill him?”

“Yes,” Bull nods, dark shadow on his face. “They set a trap on us. We lost a few men.”

They can’t lose Delrin.

Not him. Not him, please, not him.

She spends hours at Delrin’s bed watching his rugged breathing, watching the sisters work the infusions, watching him getting weaker and weaker.

Not him. Not her husband. Not him.

If she could, she would take the poison out of Delrin’s blood. If Yosef wasn’t dead, she would kill him herself; she would stab him a hundred times with no hesitation for harming the man she loves, her husband, _her husband!_

The ice cold fury floods Mira and the first time she understands true anger, like princess Dobrava must have felt when her brother had murdered her groom. The primal, base anger that runs in the veins of every woman that has ever given her heart away, and Mira has never given her heart to anyone before, not her parents, not any other man, no one, just him.

The emotions waver through the night, from fury to fear, unlike any other fear she has ever felt. Fear that she will lose him, she will lose their future, that she will never kiss him, that she will never feel his heartbeat or tell him that he is her home.

The time must have stopped, or maybe it turns faster, but Mira stays with Delrin until there’s another morning and Bann Barris grips her shoulder and orders her to go to sleep.

* * *

It fucking hurts and his mouth is dry.

Delrin coughs out, opening his eyes. He the stone ceiling above him. That is not the ship, but he knows this place.

It’s an infirmary in Portsmouth. The bed is wet and uncomfortable. Sweet Andraste, he doesn’t remember anything. His father is asleep by the chair nearby. How did he get here?

“Father,” he rasps, and his father jerks his body awake, looking at him with more relief than ever.

“Son,” Bann Barris whispers, lifting up his hand and petting him on the head, as if Delrin was still a little kid.

It must have been bad. Fuck, is that stench from his own body? Did he piss himself?

“ _Sister!_ ” His father calls before turning back to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. Where’s Mira?”

“I think you might owe her your leg, if not your life. She had made the potion we pumped into you. Mira spent the whole day and night here. I found her dozing off at the foot of your bed in the morning, so I sent her to sleep. Can you feel your leg?”

“It hurts like a motherfucker,” Delrin hisses through his teeth, moaning out of pain and ignoring his father’s disapproving glance over his choice of language. “My wound was barely more than a scratch. I’ve had far worse. What caused it to be that bad?”

“Apparently a mixture of horse feces and viper venom, among other things.”

“Horse shit,” Delrin sighs. “A dead man almost managed to take me to the pyre with him because of fucking horse shit.”

“What happened? Iron Bull mentioned a trap?”

Delrin would rather not spend too much time thinking about. “Sapieha’s methods were ruthless. He would terrorize the Nevarran border by pillaging and rape, and enforce compliance that way. The villages and towns that refused to cooperate with the Hasmali would get massacred.”

The burning smoke, the sight of the bodies, the cries of the survivors.

“I fought many men, but few as ruthless,” Delrin adds. “He enjoyed it, father. He enjoyed every second of it and there was something personal about it.”

It was personal. As long as Delrin lives, he won’t be able to forget the image of a redheaded woman whose mutilated body Sapieha’s huzars had displayed for Delrin and his squadron to find. An innocent woman murdered as a taunt because her hair color resembled Mira’s.

Killing has never brought Delrin pleasure, but in rare moments it could restore a sense of balance. Killing Yosef Sapieha was one of those moments.

“You won,” his father sums up, as if he could read his thoughts.

“Yes,” Delrin confirms, trying to move his leg. “I need to piss. Can you help me to the bathroom?”

“Absolutely _not_ , ser Barris,” the elderly Chantry sister approaches them both. “You are far too weak. Bedpan only. You don’t want me to call your wife to talk some sense into you?”

Sweet Andraste, _no_.

“I will get her,” Bann Barris gets up. “I’ll send the guard for some rolls so the poor girl eats something.”

“You must be doing something right, young man,” Chantry sister nods with approval, placing the glass of water and by the bed. “Your wife would not leave you even for a second. And no, no rolls for you. Broth only for today. I’ll get the bedpan and clean you up, change the bedding and your dressing and you will feel like a new man.”

Delrin grunts, but he has enough sense to thank the sister. Although he realizes that Mira must have seen him like that, he wishes to at least not stink when she comes into the room to be with him.

“Can I have a toothbrush, too?” He asks after the bedpan and the cloth-bath.

“Yes,” Chantry sister responds. “But you must keep your heart rate down, so do not even think of getting up today.”

Maker help him, how soon can he leave this place?

* * *

Delrin’s awake! Mira rushes, putting on a fresh dress as fast as possible while Bann Barris waits outside of the small bedroom of the inn. He’s awake, and she wasn’t there for him, and now her heart is thudding and her hands are shaking.

He’s awake! Was it the potion, the pleading, the praying or just a draw of luck? It doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s hers.

She she runs down the street to the infirmary with Dot by her side. The danger had passed, and the Mabari should come, too.

Mira pushes at the door, her heart almost exploding. Delrin, lying among the pillows, still ashen and tired, but looking mighty better than yesterday.

He’s smiling.

“My lady,” he says, but not as a stranger, but as her man, her husband.

Mira sits on the edge of the bed and kisses him on the lips, as soft as possible, still unable to find the words to say.

“Delrin,” she whispers at last, eyes watering. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“I have an idea,” he murmurs, placing his hand on hers. “I am so happy to see you. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I am grateful for your skill and talent.”

He says more, but Mira doesn’t listen when her tears drown her and Delrin lets her cry, not letting go of her hand.

“Did you miss me too, girl?” She hears him speak to Dot, who places her head on the bed. “It’s all right, I’m back.”

“I haven’t cried until now,” Mira snivels, wiping off her cheeks.

“I was counting on your tears even without the unforeseen complications,” he mutters softly, glancing at her. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. I’ve missed you so much, honey.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she smiles, kissing his warm lips again, because he’s alive, because he is here. “We’ll stay here for a while but a week or two and we should be able to travel home.”

“You’re my home,” he says, and Mira cries again.

* * *

Delrin had been wounded in the past, and each time the convalescence proved terribly boring. At least now he is with Mira, who insists on staying in the infirmary room.

The medics might not approve of her sleeping by his side, but the Barrises have given coin to this place before and nobody says a word.

What a relief to be back. It’s not a Barrfield yet, but it is good to be on Fereldan soil, and far away from the carnage of war.

What a relief to be back with the woman he loves.

He can hardly stop looking at her. Her skin is smooth, and soft, and he can’t wait to kiss all his favorite places on her body and see Mira flush under his touch. He can’t wait to once again see and feel those curves underneath him or over him.

Mira’s hair smell of Fereldan herbs, and he likes playing with that one unruly curl that falls on her cheek. Her eyes are clear like a summer sky, full of mirth when she looks at him. Above everything, her smile lights up the infirmary and soothes his aches.

Despite the reassurance of their letters, he has feared that the war would come between them. In some way, he still is afraid of that. He spilled a lot of blood on the border and it might have been in defense and it might have been necessary, but he imagines the pain inside Mira’s heart.

Still, she graces him with that brightest smile with no reservation, and she snuggles up to him in the evening, and she runs cloth on his body whenever he sweats the poison out, and she brings him water and food, and she cares for him each moment.

They won’t escape the talk of war, and the letters have not been enough for him to say everything he needs to say, but until he leaves the infirmary, this is the time to rest.

So Delrin rests. He clenches his jaw out of pain; he invites Mira to cuddle up to his side, to place her head on his chest, and he closes his eyes and focuses on the soft warmth of her presence.

She welcomes him home, perhaps better than he has ever welcomed her, and he only wishes to make certain that she knows how much she means to him, not by what she gives him, but by who she is, and that he wants every part of her, and he takes every part of her.

The world can be on fire set by men like her father, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because Delrin doesn’t ignore the circumstances between him and Mira. He just sees his wife, all of her sweet and serious and sometimes quiet self, and the strength she carries and the compassion she offers.

“Are you in pain?” She whispers, caressing the overgrown stubble on his jawline and looking at him, dare he say, with love.

“Much less now,” he whispers back, staring at her face, now surly the loveliest face he’s ever seen. “You relieve my pain. I am very lucky to have you here with me, although I won’t lie, I am eager to leave this damn place.”

“If everything goes well, only several nights more and we travel home.”

 _Home_ , she says, and love fills his chest. 

He understands it more after Hasmal. He witnessed the cruelty and the rule that disposed of women with astonishing ease, and he fought against men hand-picked and trained by Surma himself. He stood against Yosef, knowing what the man had done not only to his enemies, but his own people.

Knyaz rules Hasmal with Surma’s sword. Everybody knows it, but he got to see it first hand, and how commonplace the evil is.

This is the reality that Mira grew up in.

Now it is easier than ever to grasp why Mira has put effort into their marriage, why she has always tried to reach to him.

He thought it was due to obedience at first, but now he knows it’s been due to hope, because Mira has always had care and warmth to give. Delrin is certain she has a lot of love to give, too.

In Hasmal all Mira could have been was her father’s daughter, a possession to store in the cloister until Surma needed a bargaining chip. Maybe an object of lust and obsession for a man like Yosef.

Those commanded by evil men often turn to evil themselves. It is not a judgement on the Hasmali, but the unfortunate reality that it takes an extraordinary strength to stand against the evil norm. Delrin was a Templar once, after all.

It is easier to choose goodness when one learns goodness.

Delrin is grateful for his home, growing up. He’s grateful for his family, and his parents, and he is even grateful for the Inquisition, because as imperfect as it might be, they are led by those to whom integrity and honor matter.

However polite Mira could have been to any man her father would give her to, Delrin knows that her affections and feelings stem from the way he treats her.

It brings satisfaction. Whatever mistakes and miscommunications, he has won her trust and respect, and hopefully he has won her heart, too.

It would only be natural for Mira to struggle now, given that he come back from war with her own homeland.

However Hasmal failed her, she still loves it, because as total s the knyaz’ cruel rule is, it is not the only truth about Hasmal and its people, and Delrin knows it too.

He now knows the mesmerizing views, the taste of many foods, the snippets of the language that sounds like nothing else.

However complicated are Mira’s emotions about the war, she is here by his side, clinging to his body, watching over him with fondness, and believing in him, and in them, and believing in the home and family he has offered her.

That is a victory, not the due his strength and authority, but due to his tenderness and devotion.

He lifts up his hand and traces his index finger over the lovely shape of her upper lip, and Mira places the tiniest kiss on his fingertip and smiles again.

What a blessing.

* * *

Finally, after two weeks in the infirmary, they travel back to Barrfield, and Mira can’t wait to see the familiar views, to have the privacy of their own bedroom, to sleep in their own bed. She can’t wait to show Delrin everything she has discovered, and to lean into the new routine, and to enjoy her husband properly.

He is still sick, but doing better. It is clear that he is not used to needing to rest, but he fusses less than most soldiers she’s met, at least in front of her.

They travel by the carriage and stay at the same inn they slept in when she had first arrived in Ferelden.

What a strange sensation to be back in this place, to recall her nervousness and her worries, and her hope that her stranger husband would be kind to her.

Now he is no stranger; Mira claims him in every way.

Now she is the one to bring him home.

What has he seen in Hasmal? The letters were careful, omitting most of his daily tasks. His injury almost cost him his life. They have yet to talk about Yosef, and Mira wonders what question she would even ask, not out of fear of shyness but because the topic hurts, because she doesn’t need to know of every painful detail to stand by Delrin and to care for him, and to be with him.

Nonetheless, they are married, and they are to confide with each other. Just as she leans on his strength, he leans on hers. They are each other’s comfort.

Nobody has prepared either of them for this marriage, and nobody has prepared them for discussions about the of war and their identity. They stumble like children, but they stumble holding hands.

Perhaps nothing matters more.

“Have you seen my father?” Mira asks despite herself when they lie together in the darkness of the night, his arms around her.

He stiffens for a second, like he hasn’t expected the question, but then he relaxes and pulls her closer into her embrace.

“No,” he says. “We all thought it would be best to avoid such an encounter, and I wasn’t there for the negotiations. I know your father knew of my presence.”

“And Yosef? Have you encountered him before that battle?”

“Yes,” Delrin admits after a pause, and Mira tries not to imagine what horrible acts that pause is hiding. “He would leave messages for me. I am sorry for not writing you that I was the one who killed him. I didn’t think it would matter, and I wanted to spare your thoughts about that man.”

She turns to face her husband, to feel his breath on her lips. “I am not mad, Delrin. Silence is often merely silence, not a deception. We don’t have to mention every awful thing to be true to each other, but I can take whatever burdens you need me to help you help carry. I truly can.”

“I know,” he whispers, running his hands on her waist, and softly kissing her lips. “I know all that, Mira. You can ask me questions, too. I am not hiding from you. You can tell me anything. I imagine it hasn’t been easy here.”

Her voice shakes now. “I think some Fereldans I’ve met through the summer were almost disappointed that I don’t resemble an outright demon, but many people have been kind to me. Your family is very well respected, and they have been protective over me.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, and body is close and warm. “They truly care for you. I can’t even imagine the hug my mother is going to give you once I come home.”

“I want you to know,” Mira blinks, tearing up. “That even amidst this war, no matter the heartbreak I’ve been feeling, no matter the thoughts of Hasmal, I am glad to be here with you. I wouldn’t have chosen a different home.”

“I wouldn’t have chosen a different wife. Not for anything in the world. I meant what I wrote in my letters, too. I have seen how beautiful Hasmal can be. I have seen it in you, and I have seen it there. There were Hasmali helping us, translating for us, working with us, but I don’t mean to suggest that Hasmal is only beautiful when it succumbs. All I mean to say is that I’ve witnessed beauty in nature, in culture, in sounds, in flavors. I wish I could have witnessed it under different circumstances. More so, I wish you could have.”

She sobs once again, and he kisses away her tears.

“I got you some gifts,” he confesses, as if hesitant. “They are in the satchels my father had sent out to Barrfield before my mother sent back the packages with fresh clothing and toiletries. There had been no time to shop around, but my translator helped me procure some books and other little things for you. I’ve also tasted new foods and learned some new words.”

“What have you tried?”

“Hasmali mead, which is the best I’ve tried. _Vodka_ as well. _Mizeria_ , the cucumber salad, which like to have again, especially with fresh potatoes and _kefir_ to drink. Pickles, different from we eat here. Sorrel soup, which I can’t pronounce in Hasmali despite trying.”

“ _Szczawiowa_ ,” Mira laughs.

“Yes, that word,” he laughs. “I’ve tried quite the few things. I liked all the dumplings, from _pierogi_ to _kopytka_ , especially with meat in horseradish sauce, or a roasted duck in apples which I managed to have once, when we visited the Hasmali noble living in Nevarra. Oh, and all the mushrooms, once I trusted the guide enough to know he wouldn’t poison us.”

“Those are some of the things I miss,” she admits, safe in his arms.

“I have also learned more words,” he says, trailing his hands down her body.

“Like what?”

“ _Jesteś piękna_ ,” he says with a harsh Fereldan accent, and Mira giggles. “ _Moja miła,_ ” he kisses her lips, and she feels his cock hardening, pushing onto thigh and her head dizzies a little. “ _Pragnę cię._ ”

Her body craves him too, and she gets wet and ready. He grabs her butt, palming the supple flesh, and he kisses her lips, making her breathless and drunk with want.

“Wait, wait,” Mira finally scolds him, remembering his injury and what a close call it was. Delrin stops right away, panting. “You know you’re not ready for that yet.”

“ _Mhm_ ,” he whines, burying his face into her neck. “My body begs to differ. I want you so much.”

“You can’t ride your own horse,” she points out, clinging to pragmatism with no mercy for neither her husband nor herself. “Do you really think you can ride your own wife? Or that I can ride you? Patience, Delrin.”

“I know,” he kisses her again, this time almost shy, appeasing her. “I know, honey. I promised to be a complaint patient and a compliant husband. I just miss you and your body so much.”

“Believe me,” she whispers, still warmed up. “I miss making love with you too, and I promise you, we have a whole lifetime together to make up for it.”

They cuddle again, resting in each other.

How easy it is to promise him a lifetime now.

* * *

It is good to cross the threshold of his own home, the most familiar place, no matter how long he would spend away from here.

His mother cries, wrapping her arms around him and embracing him so tightly that it hurts, and Delrin himself gets a little choked up, kissing her forehead.

“You don’t look half-bad,” mother sums up, patting his shoulders as he stands in front of her, knowing full well it would be fruitless to prevent this examination.

“I feel fine,” he insists, and she snorts in response. “No, mom, I’m really fine now.”

Then everyone welcomes him. The whole procession of the Barr Castle residents, from the family to the servants, including Mistress Karla, who pulls him for a hug and lists out all the desserts made for him for such an occasion.

Not every soldier finds all that upon his return, and Delrin knows his fortune, especially as he glances at Mira, who now drowns in his mother’s arms.

Without Mira, there’s a chance he wouldn’t be here today at all. Without Mira, this home, as loving as it has always been, would feel different as well. It had felt different before they married.

There is a feast awaiting them. Family only, because Delrin doesn’t like the fuss, although he is aware that the social obligations will soon follow.

What will future bring once he heals? Would he stay here, or spend most of the time in Haven until Corypheus’ defeat? Would he ask his father to open Barrfield to the Inquisition again should the need arise?

Tonight won’t provide answers, and Delrin does not wish to spoil his respite. It will take time for him to stand in combat again, and for once, he is looking forward to the sweetest leisure with Mira.

She is right next to him, chatting with everyone, and laughing, and joking, glancing at him often, as if to make sure that he is by her side, that he is truly back.

There are no words adequate to express how it feels to have her here, far away from the bloody war, far away from her monstrous warlord father. Here, where she is not only protected, but loved.

* * *

Mira touches the leather cover of the book, and then opens it, running her finger through the paper covered in the words of her native tongue.

“I asked Kenneth to send some books for you,” Delrin says, watching her open the gifts. “But then the war erupted, and the trade with Hasmali stopped. I had to trust my translator to make his picks, but I told him of your dislike of the pastoral poetry.”

She laughs at the memory of that conversation, and glances at her considerate husband. “Half of those books you got are forbidden in Hasmal.”

“I paid an honest price for them,” he assures her. “Open other packages.”

There’s a shawl embroidered in a traditional floral pattern, and a white crochet coverlet for the bed, and a carved wooden figure of Andraste, and many sketches made by Delrin’s hand showing Hasmal, from wooden village houses to the vast steppe, to the pine forest and a study of a pinecone itself.

The lump forms in her throat, and she finds no words to speak.

After years of hiding and invisibility, Delrin tries to show her than he sees her, all of her, and that he takes her for all that she is.

He looks through the things she bought for him, from the soft robe to match hers to more of the drawing supplies, and then he kisses her forehead and lets her close her eyes and rest her face on the place on his chest that seems to have been designed right for her.

Their marriage could not bring forth the peace or even foster a long term alliance, but it has brought them this; respect, care, intimacy, _love_.

Love that has rooted in Mira’s heart and with each passing day, it grows stronger and stronger.

And isn’t that what marriage should be about?

* * *

Now they truly are home, in their bedroom, in their own bed, and all Delrin can think of is that he really, really wants to fuck his wife.

No, he hasn’t ridden a horse yet, but sweet Andraste be his witness; he is ready to head to the stables right now to prove that he could, even though both him and Mira are preparing to sleep.

He is sitting on the bed in just his new robe, in the same shade of navy-green that Mira is wearing right now as she kneels on her side and changes his dressing.

The pain is mostly gone, but his body still feels pretty weak, and he has to admit he gets tired much faster than usual, and his days require more caution. He dislikes the healing process, but there is no way to rush it.

Except that right now he can feel how warm her body is after the hot bath, and the robe reveals her delicious cleavage, and shows a part of her round, soft thigh, and all Delrin wants to do is to run his hand there and see if she is wearing any smalls.

Her face is focused and serious, as always when she acts as his medic. The devious thought befalls him to check how quickly he could distract her, but he made a promise to behave.

Still, he thinks of how long it has been, of her breasts bouncing over him, or how flushed her skin gets when she’s aroused, of her moans and screams, of her sweetest cunt, of how much Mira likes sex, and how eager and greedy she is, and how little it takes for her to beg for his cock.

_Fuck._

His cock is hard and heavy to the point of pain, almost poking through the flaps of the robe, and this time he might be the one to beg for release.

“Do you need something? Should I get some tea?”

“No tea,” he rushes, watching her put bandage around his leg, and that is when his cock springs free and Mira notices it, blushing right away.

He gently pulls her in for a kiss, and her lips are warm, and her tongue is cool like a toothpaste, and her breathing deepens when he grips her thigh.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers into her ear. “I want you so much that I am ready to beg.”

“You know I want you, too,” she whines and yet she kisses him. “You need not to strain yourself.”

“There are things I can do without straining myself,” he rasps into her mouth. “You know what we could do, honey?”

They haven’t tried it together yet, but they’ve talked about it in the letters.

“What?” She sighs as his hand travels up inner thigh.

“I can take myself in the hand and take care of my pleasure,” he continues, almost reaching her cunt but moving his fingers away to tug on the ribbon of her robe. “I can watch you pleasure yourself. Mira, you know how many nights I imagined you touching yourself, thinking of me and moaning for me?”

“Y-yes,” she says, when he parts the sides of her robe to reveal that she is perfectly naked underneath. “Yes,” she repeats when he palms her breasts. “I—I don’t know where to start.”

Some shyness merges with excitement as Mira, red-cheeked, watches him.

“I’ll guide you,” he offers, sliding down her robes and tossing it on the floor. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

Delrin groans at the sight of his wife in all her wonderful nakedness, so soft, and curvy, and luscious and his.

“Get naked. I want to watch you, too.”

He obliges her right away, how could he not, and he throws his own robe across the room before he gets comfortable, leaning on the headboard with pillows stuck behind his neck.

Yes, Maker, please, he thinks when she sits on her knees with her legs spread, displaying her body for him to enjoy.

His cock is leaking, but he must pace himself because he wants to see Mira collapse in pleasure and call for him first.

“Run your fingers through neck, and shoulders, and arms,” he murmurs, and she follows his direction, a little coy. “Now show me how you touch your breasts.”

 _Oh, yes._ He loses herself in the view in front of him, as Mira’s moves are getting bolder, in her noises getting louder when her hand lands between her thighs.

It’s only when she whispers his name that reaches for his cock.

* * *

Delrin watches her as he could devour her, so gorgeous in his want. There’s power in having a man to look at her like this; the gaze not possessive but jubilant.

He paces himself, his strokes are slow and tender, and Mira imagines how many times has he pleased himself like this since they parted, how many times has he envisioned taking her in every way possible.

Nothing her own fingers can do matches the way he feels, but she knows her body and she’s climbing towards her peak, higher and higher.

“How often would you make yourself come when I was away?” Delrin asks in that silky, sultry tone of his voice.

“Almost.. every day,” she manages, so close, and he watches her with no shame.

“Do you miss my cock?”

“Yes, Delrin, yes,” she whimpers, rolling her hips into her hand, and her thighs almost burn in that position, but it is so good, and she tightens her muscles to delay the release. “I miss your cock, I miss everything, I miss how you fill me, I want you, oh, Delrin, I’m going to—”

“Oh, yes, honey.”

“ _Delrin!_ ” she moans his name, the same way she would do in the privacy of their bedroom without him here, and her climax is sharp and hot.

He never turns his eyes away, but he stops moving his hand on his cock when Mira gets on her knees and shifts closer, close enough to kiss him.

He brings her fingers to his mouth, licking them off, and there’s something primal, even base about, and Mira loves it.

“Would you like my mouth?” She asks, brushing her lips against his, but he takes her hand instead and places it on his cock, hot and hard, and smooth as velvet.

They have never done it much, always busy with other things, but this time he shows her how to stroke him.

Delrin moans, and that sweet need saturates his soft green eyes. His mouth part, and now it’s Mira’s turn to delight in watching him succumb to pleasure.

“It feels so fucking good. Honey, there’s something I’d like to do, but I’m not sure if you’d want it,” he rasps.

“What would you like?”

“I don’t want to make you—“

“ _Tell me_ ,” she insists.

“Fuck, Mira, I want to come on your tits.” The flush on her explodes and he notices. That they have certainly never done before. “Only if you—“

“Yes,” she says, leaning closer. “Delrin, _please_ , come on my tits.”

Her words must be enough because he groans, and his seed, warm and sticky, lands on her breasts.

“Oh, Mira,” he gasps, looking at her with a satisfied smile full of adoration. “You look so gorgeous like that. Was—Was it too much?”

The air is filled with the scent of sex, and Mira finds that while she prefers him to finish inside of her, there is something arousing in having him mark her body like that.

“No,” she laughs, unsure what to do now before Delrin kisses her, not minding if they make more mess than that.

“I think we should go on a proper ride tomorrow,” he smiles. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll allow it,” Mira says, looking at his happy face, full of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the reunion! :)
> 
> I can't believe the last chapter will be the last. I am very grateful to the readers who are following the story, and I always truly appreciate your comments. I hope you liked that chapter.
> 
> Stay safe. It has been an incredibly challenging year. 
> 
> Hasmali translations:
> 
> Jesteś piękna - you're beatiful
> 
> moja miła - my dear
> 
> pragnę cię - I desire you


	14. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Delrin return to Barrfield.
> 
> The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW (yes, again!)

Delrin wakes up in his own bed with Mira sleeping right next to him, her arm across his waist.

_Home_.

He raises his hand to brush Mira’s cheek, watching her frown and wrinkle her nose before she groans.

“Rise and shine,” he chuckles.

“This is not a military encampment, Delrin. We don’t have to rise at dawn,” she protests, but she opens up her eyes and smiles to him. “It is nice to find you here, though.”

“I will keep this bed warm from now on,” he promises, throwing a wink that makes her giggle. “So, are we riding out after breakfast? I will send a word to the stables to ready the horses.”

“I do admire your focus,” Mira laughs, wiggling her body closer and giving him the sweetest kiss, full of enticing promise. “Fine, if you feel that you’re ready.”

“Didn’t I prove my readiness last night?” He teases, grinning at the memory.

“You certainly proved something,” Mira pats his shoulder and sits up in a bed, so lovely in her soft nakedness. “We’ll ride out after breakfast, then we could have a picnic during lunchtime, and then we could spend the afternoon with your family before dinner—”

“—And retire early for the night,” he finishes. “Oh, I like that plan.”

Delrin returned home to find it changed. Yesterday he barely paid attention among the chatter and the concerned questions and the feast on his behalf. Today everyone fusses less, even his mother, so Delrin can sit at breakfast and watch his family.

Mira used to be rather quiet, speaking carefully, always proper. Too proper. Now it seems that she has her own internal jokes with the rest of the clan. The whole table is buzzing with conversation that doesn’t wait for him, and he is the one who needs to catch up.

They’ve always liked Mira, but now Delrin is certain that they actually love her without even thinking about it. It is not that she fit into the family, but the family made space to welcome her.

He is not naïve. This doesn’t make up for the years of hurt and the wounds Mira carries, but it is home, and she carries herself like was truly home.

* * *

Even though Delrin arrived in Ferelden a couple of weeks ago, Mira finds that her heart is lighter today.

He is back at home, safe and sound.

There will be a time when he leaves again. There will be many times like that, and Maker willing, there will be many times for him to return to her again, but this is the first one, and Mira is excited for the time they have now.

He looks relaxed, and happy to be back with his family, to sit at one table. Now she is his family, too.

In truth, they all are her family, and it strikes Mira that although she is still a foreigner, she no longer feels like an intruder in this home.

She loves Delrin with all her might, but everyone here matters to her as well. What a new world it is indeed, to care deeply, to allow her heart to anchor in others. All of a sudden their lives intermingle and their lives become her life, too.

Mira is informed of so many things; from the summer projects that Tristan undertakes to the books that Lucille is reading and her utmost hate towards embroidery; to the intricate fabrics of lady Adriana’s social obligations and whom she regards with true sympathy; to the worries and hopes of lady Katherine for her children, especially as Tristan nears adulthood; to Calvin’s determination to spend quality time with both of his kids'; to all the favorite chess moves of Bann Barris.

They might have wished for something else, someone else for Delrin, but they got her and they accepted her, never questioning her rights in their home, never placing any conditions.

Mira glances at Delrin, sitting next to her, eating with much appetite, likely making it up for all the infirmary diet.

They are both back at home.

He notices her gaze and sends her a silly mid-air kiss.

Happiness doesn’t feel grand, Mira decides. It is simple, and mundane, and like love, it knocks at the heart almost shyly, and then one day it is already there and it stays.

* * *

Mira heads to the kitchen to make a request for the picnic food for later, and Delrin walks to his father’s office. His mother is there as well, as if she expected his presence.

“You just cost me a bet,” Father sighs, raising his eyebrow from beyond the desk. “Your mother said you’d come for the ring right in the morning, and I thought you’d wait until the evening.”

“I like being prepared,” he says, trying not to guess at the conversations his parents must have about him.

“So I said,” his mother triumphs.

The marriage came before anything else, but when in Hasmal, Delrin wrote his parents and asked if he could choose a family ring to offer Mira, not as a sign of commitment, for that has always been there, but as a sign of all the affections given straight from the heart.

“You can make your own choice, but I was thinking Mira would like that one,” Mother hands him a wooden box with a golden ring with an oval emerald in the center, surrounded by the halo of smaller stones. “She wears a lot of greens and blues.”

“Great-grandmother’s ring,” he whispers, because the memories come back and he remembers seeing it on her old, wrinkled hands. He was her favorite. “It’s perfect. Thank you both.”

His father nods, but his mother gives him an overbearing hug like the one last night.

“Mira is a lovely young woman,” Father says, and he is not quick to hand out compliments. “We were quite heartbroken when you decided to go through with the wedding, but now we can’t quite imagine this family without her. We’re really happy for you.”

That is more than a compliment, and emotions hit Delrin as he looks as his parents who, without a doubt, love him unconditionally.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” he smiles.

“Good. Your mother is pestering about grandchildren.”

“Jevrin!” Mother hisses, and Delrin instantly knows it is true. “I know better than pestering the newlyweds.”

“Patience, Mom,” Delrin pleads, and she rolls her eyes in response. “I’ll pick the ring before dinner.”

“Enjoy your well deserved leisure,” Father says. “It’s a beautiful day today.”

It is.

* * *

Delrin can handle himself on the horse, so that matter is settled.

They don’t ride out far, keeping to the meadows near the estate since Delrin’s wound still needs to heal properly, but he seems to be enjoying himself.

Finally, Delrin gets to see her on the horse he gifted her for her birthday. Mira shows him Yarrow in a full gallop as he cheers them on.

It is so easy to spend time with him, whatever they’re doing. No-one’s presence has ever brought her so much joy.

“Remember?” He asks when they pass through the shallow river not far from the manor.

“How could I forget? This is where I fell in. Thank the Maker right now I am on horseback,” she jokes, although she knows what memory he’s referring to. “I remember the kiss, too.”

So many trepidations had preceded that kiss; but now that Mira looks back at the first day of their marriage, she recognizes that it didn’t take them too long to find each other, even in the impossible situation.

There is no fate that she believes in, there is no destiny to put two people together, but she cannot imagine any man who would fit with her better than her husband.

She can’t imagine any man she’d love more.

“It feels so familiar now,” she murmurs when they look back at the manor ahead of them, and the village in the background. “I might know some spots that you’ve never even heard of.”

“Doubtful,” he glances at her, full of smile. “I was a very active child. There’s hardly a rock I don’t recognize here, but I will let you be my guide whenever you want to. It’s all better with you, anyway.”

Delrin can be so charming, but Mira knows he means the words he’s saying.

He is right. All is better that way.

* * *

They walk through the gardens and pass the southwestern gate. Mira is taking him to the peach orchard, a fine place for a picnic. It is the full peach season, with the trees yielding fruit.

They changed outfits after the ride, and now Mira is wearing a white button-down dress, looking peachy herself, especially with her curly hair dancing around her face due to the light breeze.

Sweet Andraste, Delrin glances at her every second, noticing the shadow of her nipples and the curvature of her hips below the light fabric.

It doesn’t help at all when he thinks about the images of the last night, when he reminds herself her moans and whispers and pleas.

He is a very patient man, and they have the entire day planned.

“I’ve been coming here a lot with Dot,” Mira says, and the Mabari turns at the sound of her name. “I truly enjoy that I can get out of the house and wander around, sometimes alone with Dot, sometimes with others, although it is your company I have longed for. The orchards are my favorite place to walk to. I always worry that if I go into the woods, I’ll encounter a bear.”

“I assure you that bears aren’t as common in Ferelden as you were led to believe,” he laughs, reaching out for her hand as they stroll through the peach trees, trying to find the perfect spot to set up the picnic. “We could step into the woods tomorrow. I always miss the forest here.”

“What is your favorite tree?”

He thinks for a moment. “I am not sure I have a favorite. There is a very old oak when you ride down to the village that I adore. You must have seen it.”

“Yes.”

“I think my very favorite is the beech forest, where the bluebells grow in spring. I like the bluebells, but I love the trees there, so tall, and majestic.”

“Sounds like the man I know,” she jokes, and he laughs.

“Would you like to head there tomorrow?”

“Sure. Later this week I should check upon the infirmary in the village, but the Sisters know of your return and they understand my absence. We can do whatever you desire.”

That choice of words is certainly accidental, because Mira is unable to let out the innuendo without her cheeks turning red, but accidental or not, it gives him one naughty idea after another.

“Here?” He asks, pointing at the rather secluded part of the grove.

“Here it is.”

* * *

They lay down the blanket and open the picnic basket to take out the plates and the utensils. Delrin reaches above his head and picks a ripe peach from the tree above them.

“Would you like one?”

“Not now, thank you,” Mira says, sitting down and looking around.

It is a perfect day, warm but not scorching, and the grove is truly her favorite place, especially now that peaches are in season.

Her gaze returns to Delrin, who is half-laying, arm bent at the elbow, devouring the peach with such eagerness that the juice flows down his chin.

The image is so visceral that Mira blushes in an instant, and a certain kind of warmth hits her body.

“Really, honey?” Delrin asks, licking the juice off of his fingers.

“You’re doing it on purpose!”

He feigns innocence, but Mira knows her husband in all ways, and she knows that underneath all this patient chivalry he is not innocent at all.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mira. You have to be more specific.”

“You _ravage_ that peach.”

“ _Ravage_?” He chuckles, continuing. “I like peaches. I was hoping they’d be in season for my return.”

Why is he so handsome today? The white linen shirt, rolled at the elbows, contrasts with his warm brown skin, and his breeches are tight just enough, and his damn face is all covered in that juice.

Yesterday was not enough to quench Mira’s thirst.

Delrin smacks his lips.

Mira almost growls.

“It looks like when,” she says, and he raises his eyebrow, waiting. “Like when you’re… eating my peach,” she finishes lamely.

Delrin laughs out loud, tossing the pit behind his back.

He looks at her in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down her spine, and Mira watches as he’s crawling towards her until their faces line up.

“I could eat your peach right now,” he whispers into her ear, and his warm breath tickles her.

The idea is very naughty, and very tempting.

Mira puts her fingers underneath his chin and kisses him sloppily, getting some of that peach taste out of his mouth.

“What if someone comes here?” She asks, even though she already knows that yes, she wants him, yes, she’ll take him.

“I have a very strong suspicion, bordering on certainty, that everyone is avoiding places we as newlyweds frequent. Believe me, they leave us alone on purpose. Besides, Dot can guard us.”

“Mhm,” she murmurs.

“I rode my horse, just like you asked,” he rushes, and Mira smiles at this unbridled eagerness. It truly has been so long. He touches her waist and pulls her closer, cupping her ass with another hand. “I want to taste you, I want to bring you pleasure, and then I want to pound you until—”

“Yes,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him once again, full of boiling want. “Delrin, yes. You knew I’d say yes!”

Delrin smiles in victory, and then he grabs her underneath her ass to pick her up as Mira wraps her legs around him.

He tosses them both onto the picnic blanket.

“Ouch, ouch, stop! Something’s digging into my back,” she raises up, holding onto his shirt, and Delrin reaches behind her, blindly patting the blanket until he lifts up the culprit, a small silver fork.

“You’re safe now, my lady,” he teases, triumphant as if he just saved her from the dragon not a utensil.

Mira giggles. “Aren’t you very brave?”

He lays her on the blanket once again, pinning her lightly underneath his weight. She missed that feeling, she missed all of it. The warmth of her body, the scent of him, the sweetness of his caresses and the urgency he sometimes displays when he wants her very much.

Today, the impatience shows in his kiss, hungry and deep, and in the way his fingers move to unbutton her dress and pull down her brassiere, and in how his mouth lap on her breasts, licking, and suckling, and nudging with his teeth.

There’s something wonderfully wicked in being like this in nature. All around there is a kind of erotic abundance, from the sun shining on them, to the smell of peaches and the buzz of the insects.

The world seems prime for mating.

She is ready as well when his hand lands between her legs, tugging at her panties, and she helps to take them off. He pulls up her skirt and spreads her legs for him.

Her dress will get stains, she thinks briefly, and she thinks that it is mid-day and they are outside and she probably should be quiet, but then Delrin buries his face into her cunt, breathing in her scent, and kissing her, and Mira stops thinking at all.

“Fuck!” She curses out loud, and he laughs shortly, teasing her.

“Missed this?” He asks.

“Yes,” Mira grins, running her fingers on the top of his head, now very ardent herself, and Delrin finally listens and licks her again.

Mira closes her eyes, resting in pleasure that finds home within her.

* * *

There are months of longing in their kisses. Mira’s cheeks are red, her lips parted, and she moans, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him so close that he barely manages to snake his hand in between them to touch her clit.

Right now, he is greedy and needy, and he wants her to scream underneath him, he wants to leave her breathless, and utterly disheveled, glorious in the mess they’ve made.

Sweet Andraste, he loves her so much, every part of her, everything.

“Mira, I missed you, I missed you so much,” he rasps, thrusting into her in deep, long strokes, feeling her tightness around him, so hot and wet and wanting.

“I missed you, too,” she wails, scraping the nape of his neck with one hand, grasping his arse with another to push him even deeper, and he fucks her with all desperation of a man whom war separated from his beloved wife.

Maker, victory has never been so sweet, and home has never been so sweet. Now he is back with Mira, now he is in her, within her.

There’s nothing but her taste, the feel of her body and her loud moans. She’s so wet that his thumb almost slides from her clit and Delrin is at risk of losing his rhythm.

“Almost there,” she whispers underneath him, shutting her eyes, and he stares at her face, wanting to see the moment when she peaks.

She cries out in this broken, primal half-scream that tips him right at the edge.

Her gaze is so sweet and soft when she opens her eyes again that it leaves him breathless.

It’s love, he loves her.

Delrin comes with a groan, spilling inside of her, and then he rests on her body, mindful not to crush her.

His leg is hurting a bit, but it was all worth it.

He raises up on his elbow, looking at his lovely wife, so radiant in her afterglow.

There’s a trickle of sweat on her forehead, and she narrows her eyes when the ray of sun hits her face.

“You’ve ruined my dress,” Mira laughs, tapping him on the chest. “I can’t believe we just did that. I think you might have ruined me.”

“I claim only half of the responsibility,” he protests, rolling next to her.

“Can you pass me the napkins to clean myself?” She asks, and he digs into the picnic basket behind his head to hand them to her. “Just remember that we shall put them with our private laundry. How are we even going to come back home?”

“Oh, I am fine,” he teases, tying back his breeches. “We can sneak in through the library.”

“Even our dog is judging us,” Mira points out at Dot who rests by the peach tree.

“Trust me, she has stopped judging us very early on,” He kisses Mira on the cheek, patting her round butt. “Besides, we are still having a proper picnic. I’m actually hungry now.”

Mira giggles again, and he sits up and unpacks their meal, starting by pouring glasses of peach wine.

“You don’t have to button it up,” he whispers when Mira reaches to fix her dress, and she blushes and smiles at the same time.

“I’m spoiling you.”

“I got wounded in the terrible war,” he plays his cards, earning himself a playful smack on his shoulder. “Yes, honey, you are spoiling me.”

Mira nods, satisfied, leaving her dress open on her breasts for him to enjoy the view.

It is a perfect day, Delrin thinks, giving Mira a piece of custard tart.

* * *

They are watching the clouds. Mira wonders if she has ever felt such peace as in this one perfect moment, when her head rests on his chest and his arm is around her, and when she still feels that slight pleasant soreness between her legs from their lovemaking.

“That looks like a Mabari,” he murmurs about a cloud, and Mira frowns in disagreement.

“What? That looks like a horse.”

“No way,” he protests, and his voice rumbles with warmth. “Clearly a Mabari.”

“Spoken like a true Fereldan.”

“I draw!” he argues, making her giggle again, and she already stopped counting how many times he had made her laugh today. “The muzzle is too short for it to be a horse.”

“All right, you win that one,” she surrenders, and turns her head to glance at him.

It never ceases to amaze her how gorgeous he is, from that face like a work of art, to the warmth and strength of his body, to the perfection of his lips and the kindness in his eyes.

He has always been absurdly handsome, but now everything about him is so familiar that it fills Mira with the most intense tenderness.

She could have lost him, and her heart clenches at the thought, but he is here, and so her heart spills with love.

“What?” He whispers, touching her cheek.

“How’s your leg now?”

“I’m fine,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows. “Next time you’re on top,” he adds, and Mira chuckles, nodding in agreement.

They will do whatever he desires as long as he is healing well.

“I don’t know what words should I use to express how I feel, but I am so happy and so thankful you are safe and right here, Delrin. I don’t even want to think of the alternative. I’m just thankful. I don’t know if you can imagine how I feel.”

“I can,” he sighs. “Every single day of the war I thought of what could have happened to you had you not left Hasmal and married me. I can imagine how you feel, because I know that gut-wrenching gratitude for what I have.”

There is no need to add anything more. They understand each other and that is something they’ve built together.

The moment is solemn, but Delrin leans closer and kisses her, bringing peace again.

* * *

Mira’s lips taste of peach wine when she softly kisses him back. Now that they sated their desire, the caresses are more gentle and delicate, and Delrin loses himself in the sensation before they pull away and stare at each other in comfortable silence.

It is ordinary, as it should be. A quiet day at home with his with wife.

His heart is sated, too.

There are glints of gold in Mira’s eyes, twinkling in the warm light of the day. Nowadays, he notices the little details of her beauty. The way her cheeks move when she’s laughing, how small her hands are in comparison to his, the delicious dimples on her lower back, the loveliest arch of her upper lip.

Her presence has forever marked itself on his soul.

Delrin doesn’t even know what he had imagined before they married, he only knows what they have now.

In a way, the words on the tip of his tongue are long overdue. Mira is a serious person, and so is he, and he has always intended for this confession to carry its meaning. He has never said that to any lover before her. The plan was to tell Mira tonight, but they already rushed with other things.

He finds her lips once again, marveling at way they both meet in a kiss, practiced and perfect in their rhythm.

“ _Kocham cię,_ ” Delrin says, and her breath stops for a second.

“What?” She whispers against his mouth, although she must have heard him.

“ _Kocham cię_ , Mira,” Delrin repeats, shifting above her and taking her hand into his.

Mira gives him the biggest, brightest smile, the kind that narrows her eyes and wrinkles her nose; and he can see the gums above her teeth. The kind of smile that makes her body shake with excitement. That kind of smile that might turn into tears. The kind of smile he loves the most.

“I love you, Delrin,” she says, voice trembling, and he already sees the tears escaping her eyes.

Delrin smiles, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kocham cię - I love you (which I don't think I even need to translate)
> 
> That is the end. For me, the ending was always supposed to be when they officially confess love to each other, when they cross the titular threshold of their life together. 
> 
> The whole story that started as an playful, fun idea, that was supposed to be short (and it still seems short) and then turned out into what it is now. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoyed Delrin and Mira.
> 
> I am very grateful for my readers and their support and encouragement. 
> 
> I can't quite believe it is over. I have to admit I'm feeling quite emotional.
> 
> If you read this story now or a long time from today and you like it, I hope you leave a few words for me. It will my day.
> 
> Thank you all, truly.


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